


The Journey

by AgtSpooky



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgtSpooky/pseuds/AgtSpooky
Summary: Two soldiers. Two motorcycles. Six states. One road trip that will change Michael and Damien’s relationship forever, bringing them closer than they ever imagined.





	The Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Three things intrigued me about the first episode of season four: First, Damien was sporting a new tattoo on his inner forearm. Second, Damien’s statement to Michael in the plane: “It was always the plan to come back to Twenty, right Mike?” and third, the California Highway Patrol officer’s statement to Michael and Damien: “You’ve got traffic violations in six states from here to Alaska!”. So it got me to thinking about what could have happened during that long road trip…

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Their journey began in Johannesburg

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the midst of a rather…explicit dream, Damien Scott groaned, rolling over—and nearly sent himself tumbling to the floor. The sensation of falling startled him mostly awake, and he instinctively shot an arm out, connecting with something hard that brought him to an abrupt halt. Groggy, he blinked repeatedly until his blurry vision wavered into focus, the remnants of his pleasant dream fading away.

 

_Where the fuck am I?_

 

He lifted his head and realized his hand was resting on a low coffee table, upon which he could just make out several empty liquor bottles in the semi-darkness of the room. With another groan, he pushed himself back up onto the couch, his hand cupping his forehead as the events of the previous evening came rushing back with the pounding in his temples.

 

He was in Michael's hotel room, where he had apparently passed out on the couch after consuming at least half of the contents of those empty liquor bottles, his partner having consumed the rest, celebrating Dalton's news that Section 20 still had a future.

 

Damien blew out a breath and dropped his hand to his stomach, his eyes drifting closed once again. It had been good to spend time with Michael. He hadn't seen much of his partner in the last four days, after the end of their mission. After Michael had killed Hanson.

 

He was concerned about his partner, about his mental state, but didn't want to push, understanding Michael needed to process his grief and anger at Kerry's murder in his own way, now that he had time to do so. So he gave him space, but also let him know that he was here for him if he wanted to talk. Or just get drunk.

 

While Michael kept mainly to himself, Damien had occupied his time with Richmond and Baxter. But mainly with Baxter. The young sergeant had made quite an impression on him during the mission and Damien made it _his_ mission to get to know him better. And boy, did he. In every sense. In his bed and Baxter's. A smile slid across Damien's face and his hand drifted down toward his groin, replaying their last encounter in his mind. It was nothing serious between them—just fun, casual, no-strings attached sex. Exactly the way Damien liked it. He had tried once again to entice Julia into his bed, but she wasn't biting. Yet. Though Damien bet it wouldn't be long before she succumbed to his irresistible charm and—

 

A noise behind him pulled Damien from his thoughts and he opened his eyes, catching sight of the digital clock on the end table near his feet. The display read 4:21 am. The sound again, like someone speaking quietly, had him pushing himself up and looking over the back of the couch.

 

He spied Michael in his bed, eyes closed, sleeping. Damien's brow furrowed as he watched his partner. Correction. Not sleeping. Having a nightmare. The sheet was pushed down off of Michael's bare chest, where it was tangled around his legs. He was shifting, his arms and legs twitching, his head moving against the pillow, a distressed expression on his face, mumbling.

 

"Kerry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

 

Michael's anguished whisper hit Damien low in the gut and he rose quickly from the couch. He crossed the space in a few long strides and sat down on the side of the bed. He put his hands on Michael's shoulders and squeezed gently.

 

"Mike… Wake up, Mike…" he said quietly.

 

His partner startled at the touch, his body jerking, his eyes flying open. Still caught in the grips of the nightmare, he threw himself to a sitting position, his hand reaching out…and closing on nothing but air.

 

Damien caught Michael's arms, trying to calm him. "It's okay… Mike, it's okay…"

 

Michael twisted his head sharply toward Damien, his chest heaving. "Blood…" he ground out. "There was so much blood…" His eyes squeezed shut, his hands clenching into fists.

 

Damien's chest seized up at the pain etched on his partner's face. He cupped his hand around the back of Michael's head and guided it down to his shoulder, wrapping his other arm around Michael's back. He swallowed hard around the emotion constricting his throat. "I'm sorry, Mike. I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly, softly rubbing his palm against the warm skin of Michael's back.

 

Michael's arms wound around Damien, his hands clutching fiercely at the material of Damien's shirt. Damien pulled him closer as Michael shuddered, his partner drawing in a gasping breath.

 

Damien rested his head against Michael's. "Let it out. Please, Mike…"

 

And with a sharp, wrenching cry, Michael did. His emotions raw from the nightmare, he broke down in Damien's arms, his body shaking, his tears soaking into Damien's shirt, hands clenching and unclenching against Damien's back. All Damien could do was hold his partner through the storm, his heart breaking at the intensity of Michael's grief.

 

It was long minutes later before Michael sagged against Damien, exhausted, his shuddering breathing calming, his tears finally running dry. He released his grip on Damien's shirt, his hands falling to Damien's waist. Damien tightened his hold on Michael briefly then released him as Michael raised his head and sat up. He immediately turned away from Damien, swiping at the moisture on his face.

 

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.

 

Damien shook his head, laying his palm on Michael's leg. "Don't be. I can't even imagine what you're going through."

 

 _And you shouldn't be going through it alone_ , Damien thought, an idea suddenly forming in his head.

 

Section 20 was due to depart South Africa the day after tomorrow, and he and Michael were on extended leave for a month. He knew going back to London right now would do his partner no good. Too many painful memories of Kerry waiting there for him. He'd also seen over Michael's shoulder in the crib yesterday. He was looking into something called the Camino de Santiago, some sort of spiritual walk mumbo-jumbo in Spain. The last thing Michael needed was to be by himself, lost in his head, torturing himself. He needed to get _out_ of his head, clear his mind.

 

And Damien knew how to help his partner do just that.

 

He squeezed Michael's leg. "Hey. Forget that walk you wanted to take. Come home with me."

 

Michael huffed out a laugh and turned to look at Damien, his hazel eyes still red-rimmed. "What? Want to introduce me to your parents?"

 

Damien couldn’t stop the pained expression that crossed his face at Michael's unexpected reply and he saw Michael's brows draw together at his reaction.

 

Damien cleared his throat before Michael could question him. "No. I want us to get on a pair of bikes and ride the west coast of the States. From Alaska all the way to the Mexican border." He smiled broadly. "You, me, the open road. Let's have some fun. Let's get away from it all. What do you say, buddy?"

 

Michael glanced down and Damien knew he was going to say no.

 

"You need this, Mike," he said softly.

 

Michael paused before lifting his head and gazing steadily at Damien. He finally nodded. "Thanks, mate," he replied sincerely.

 

Damien slapped Michael on his leg, grinning widely. "This will be a trip to remember, Mikey. Trust me!"

 

Michael shook his head, a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Why does hearing those two words from you make me very nervous?"

 

Damien's only answer was laughter.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

In Alaska, they talked

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

If Damien were a travel agent, he would definitely not recommend traveling from South Africa to Alaska. By the time he and Michael arrived in Fairbanks, he had lost count of the number of planes they had been on, what time zone he was in or what day it was. He thought it was two days before they left.

 

Damien stretched his arms above his head as they disembarked into the terminal, trying to work out the kinks that had settled in somewhere over Chicago. Section 20 wasn't paying for this little jaunt of theirs, so he and Michael had repeatedly crammed their tall, muscular bodies into coach seats, and he was definitely feeling the pain.

 

Dropping his arms, he ran a weary hand down his face, over his stubble, then glanced at his partner, who was as bleary-eyed as he was. Michael had been quiet for the majority of their long trip, which again confirmed Damien's opinion that too much time spent in his own head wasn't doing him a damn bit of good. Hopefully, Damien's road trip would coax him out of his shell.

 

He and Michael resembled a pair of zombies as they collected their duffels from baggage claim and shuffled outside into the bright sunlight, blinking furiously. The weather was crisp, around 35° F, and it helped to cut through the fog in Damien's head. He closed his eyes and breathed deep of the Alaska air, letting it fill his lungs. He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes, a smile crossing his face. He felt the tension of their mission fading away, his body relaxing. He turned to Michael, saw his partner's face tipped up into the sun. And when he looked over at Damien, his eyes were clearer, a small smile on his face as well. More confirmation this was the right idea, exactly what Michael needed.

 

He clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Welcome to the States, Mike."

 

Michael nodded, his smile a bit wider. "Cheers, Scott."

 

They hailed a cab, Damien asking the driver for a suggestion for an affordable motel for the night. He and Michael would pick up their own mode of transportation tomorrow. One of Damien's old Delta Force buddies, Charlie, owned his own bike shop down in Seattle, but had connections all over. After a phone call from Damien before departing South Africa, Charlie had arranged for he and Michael to rent a couple of bikes in Fairbanks, then leave them in Juneau. After they flew over Canada, there would be two more bikes waiting for them at Charlie's own shop.

 

The cabbie took them a short ways out of the city center, to a small motel set in among the trees. The neon sign outside proclaimed it to be the Sleep-EZE Motel, with cable television and free wifi internet.

 

Michael headed for the motel office after he exited the cab. "Grab our gear and I'll get us sorted," he told Damien.

 

"Copy that," Damien replied, handing over some cash to the cabbie and snagging their bags from the trunk of the yellow car. Damien looked around as the cab departed. To the east of the motel, and on the other side of the road, was The Garden of Eat'n Diner, advertising it was open 24/7 with "heavenly coffee". To the west of the motel, on the same side of the road, was a bar called The Tipsy Moose, with a sign outside proclaiming they had the best burgers in town. Damien's stomach rumbled just thinking about a thick, juicy American burger, washed down with an ice cold beer. Or several.

 

"Oi! Scott!"

 

Damien looked back toward the front of the motel, saw Michael gesturing down to the end. "This way."

 

With a nod, Damien scooped up their bags and followed his partner to the last room on the first floor. He expected Michael to hand him his own key, but instead, Michael unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the lights. It took Damien a moment to realize that Michael had gotten them just the one room, with two double beds. He certainly had no problem sharing, and he was actually glad that Michael wanted the company, that he didn't want to be alone.

 

Damien stepped inside, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot, and dropped his duffel on the closest bed, Michael's on the other. His partner headed for the bathroom and Damien took a look around the room. It was small, but comfortable, decorated in a stereotypical Alaskan wilderness theme, complete with cute grizzly bears on the quilts.

 

A moment ago, Damien had been all about food and drinking, but now looking at the bed, he felt his exhaustion washing over him. It'd been a long fucking trip. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in an actual bed and not an airplane seat.

 

The sound of running water shut off and Michael emerged from the bathroom, wiping a washcloth over his face and around the back of his neck. He blew out a tired breath.

 

"You look as knackered as me," he said to Damien.

 

Damien shoved his duffel off onto the floor and dropped down on the bed. He didn't even have the energy to take off his boots. "Combat nap? Then burgers and beer?"

 

Michael chuckled. "Sounds like a solid, tactical plan, Sergeant."

 

Damien was asleep before Michael even sat down on his own bed, falling into the first real rest he'd had since Kenya, his mind finally, blessedly, blank of guns, blood and nuclear triggers.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien's combat nap turned into three hours of utter unconsciousness. But he was all the more refreshed for the extended rest when he finally blinked open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that all the lights were off. He could see the sky turning orange and red from the setting sun through the gap in the curtains over the window. The next thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing his boots.

 

Damien smiled to himself. _Mike_.

 

He turned his head on the pillow and looked to the bed next to him. His partner was still asleep, but apparently not resting as well as Damien had. He could just make out the crease between Michael's eyes in the dim light, his mouth compressed instead of relaxed. Damien sighed, frowning. It tore him up to see his friend so tortured and consumed by guilt. He wanted more than anything to kill that fuck Hanson again, himself this time, for the pain he was causing Michael.

 

Damien sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed as Michael shifted, his expression relaxing. Deciding to let his partner sleep, Damien padded quietly across the room, stripping off his rumpled shirt as he went, heading for the bathroom, wanting to splash some water on himself.

 

When he walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his face still slightly damp, the bedside light was on and Michael was sitting up, leaning back against the headboard.

 

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Damien apologized.

 

Michael waved a hand. "No worries. I'm good."

 

He could see by the tired lines around his partner's eyes that he wasn't, but decided not to press the issue. Instead, he tossed his shirt on his bed and dug in his duffel for a fresh one. His stomach picked that moment to rumble loudly in the quiet room and Michael chuckled.

 

"Beers and burgers?" Michael grinned.

 

Damien's stomach grumbled even louder in reply.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"Oh, fuck _me_ ," Damien moaned as he bit down into his bacon double cheeseburger. His eyes slid closed as the juices from the beef ran down his throat and his hands and he moaned again as the flavor of the bacon, tomato, lettuce and onion hit his taste buds like a semi-truck. Over the years he'd spent in other countries, he'd grown accustomed to local cuisines. But now that he was back in the States, he realized how much he'd missed American food, and wanted as much as he could stuff in his mouth—hot dogs, pizza, barbeque, apple pie and ice cream—he wanted it all.

 

Damien swallowed his huge bite and took another as Michael laughed across from him at their small table in the lively, crowded bar.

 

"You do realize you look and sound like you're getting the best blow job of your life, right?" Michael joked.

 

Damien cracked open an eye. "See what you're missing out on with that lame ass turkey burger?" he mumbled around his mouthful.

 

Michael shook his head, grinning, and took a long pull from his beer bottle. "You're glad to be home, I take it?"

 

Damien swallowed again, set down his burger and wiped his face and hands with his napkin. Michael's question gave him pause, a wave of melancholy washing over him. It was bittersweet being back. In his country's eyes, he would always be a disgraced ex-Delta Force and ex-CIA operative, even though Eleanor Grant had the Trojan Horse file that proved his innocence. But that proof had gone up in flames by his own hand. He knew he could never truly go home again. His place was with the Brits now. But when he looked at the man sitting across from him, who would willingly lay down his life to save his, and for who Damien would gladly do the same—he knew he had found a new home.

 

Michael leaned forward at Damien's silence. "I'm sorry, mate. I wasn't thinking—"

 

Damien shook his head. "No, dude, it's cool." He raised his beer bottle. "I'm here for the food and the highway."

 

Michael seemed relieved and clinked his bottle against Damien's. "Speaking of which, now that you've dragged my arse 5,000 miles across the globe, where exactly are we going?"

 

Damien flashed him a quick grin and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket as Michael took a large bite of his burger.

 

"So glad you asked, Mikey!" He spread out the roadmap, which hung over the sides of the table.

 

Michael squinted, chewing, before he pointed at one of the many red circles on the map. "What're all these?"

 

Damien sat back in his chair, pleased with himself and the research he'd done before leaving South Africa. Well, okay, it was technically Richmond who'd worked her magic on the computer, but it had been Damien's idea, so he was still taking credit.

 

"Those, Michael, are every kitchy roadside tourist attractions from Alaska to California."

 

"And here I thought for sure you were going to say they were strip clubs," Michael smirked and Damien threw back his head and laughed. "And what exactly do you do at these roadside attractions?"

 

"Well…mostly you just stare at them."

 

Michael gave him a dubious look. "You Yanks have a strange way of spending your holiday. I think I'd prefer the strip clubs if I'm going to stare at something."

 

Damien chuckled. "Oh no, my British friend. You are a tourist. And this is what tourists do. You're gonna love it. Trust me!"

 

Michael shook his head with his own chuckle. "There are those two words again."

 

A small commotion at the far end of the bar caught their attention before Damien could reply. A group of people were gathered around one of the pool tables, some laughing and clapping, offering congratulations to one of the players and good-natured condolences to what had to be the loser. As they moved away, back into the bar, Michael pointed to the empty table with his bottle.

 

"I've never played American billiards before."

 

"Seriously?"

 

"Yeah, seriously. I know it's along the lines of our snooker, but…show me how it's done?"

 

Damien's eyes lit up. Finally a chance to excel at something in comparison to Michael. Because his partner was good at _everything_ —shooting, running, swimming, climbing. Not that Damien was a slouch in any of those areas, but Michael was always just a little bit better. But now was his long-awaited opportunity to be the victor. He shoved two more huge bites of his burger in his mouth and stood, picking up his beer bottle.

 

He winked at Michael. "I promise to take it easy on you."

 

 

Michael wiped the floor with him.

 

His partner chalked it up to beginner's luck, since it was "bloody easy" compared to snooker. Though Damien blamed it on Michael playing dirty pool—even if he didn't say it out loud. Because Michael had no idea what he was doing. Namely, driving Damien to distraction. Damien's eyes were drawn like magnets to the play and ripple of muscles across Michael's shoulders and back under his tight, white t-shirt as he stretched across the table. The flex of his biceps as he pulled back and stroked forward with the cue stick. The flash of skin when his shirt rode up. The curve of his ass, encased in snug denim as he bent over the table.

 

Showing Michael how to play pool was the worst, and best, idea Damien had in a long time.

 

Worst, because those forbidden thoughts about his partner were just that. Forbidden. Destined to go nowhere. Serving only to torture himself with what he could never have.

 

Best, because Michael was a hell of a ringer and was going to earn them a shit-load of money on this trip.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The sound of running water tugged at the edges of Damien's consciousness. Suspended between sleep and wakefulness, he let the sound of Michael showering wash over him. His forbidden thoughts, having been freed from the locked corner of his mind last night, rose once again to the surface and he left himself drift into fantasy…

 

_Naked, he eased open the shower door and stepped inside, the mists of steam enveloping him in their warm embrace. Michael was there, the water flowing over his lean, muscular body and Damien's eyes drank their fill._

_Michael reached for him, his hazel eyes gone dark with the same desire flowing through Damien. One step and their bodies pressed together, arms entwined around one another, warm lips against warm lips. The kiss deepened immediately, their mouths opening, their tongues doing sensuous battle as their hands roamed over miles of bare, wet skin._

_Damien's arousal grew, heightened by the feel of the water caressing their bodies like silk. Michael moaned into the kiss, pulling Damien even tighter against him and Damien felt the evidence of his partner's own arousal, hot and hard between his legs. Damien's cock responded in kind, filling and lengthening, eager to be buried inside of Michael. He grasped Michael's ass and shifted his hips, pushing their erections together, rutting against his partner._

_Michael broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his eyes closing, head tipping back into the spray. "Damien…" he breathed._

_Damien tipped his head and kissed along the long, smooth column of Michael's neck to the top of his shoulder. Michael groaned and lifted his head. He pinned Damien with a gaze filled with heat before turning in his arms and laying his hands flat against the cool tile. Damien felt his cock throb with his partner's silent invitation and he stepped in close, molding his body to Michael's, wrapping his arms around him._

_He kissed the sensitive spot behind Michael's ear and rocked his hips, sliding his slick cock into the cleft of Michael's ass. Two strokes and Michael pressed his hips back hard._

_"Damien…" he breathed again, a higher pitch to his voice._

_Damien eased away, the water flowing between their bodies now, and he took a moment to run his hands up and down Michael's wet back, from his shoulders to his hips, feeling the strength of the muscles flexing under his fingers. Michael hummed deep in his throat and canted his head down._

_Damien let his hands drift further, over the swell of Michael's ass, and one finger quested further still, until it pressed against the small, puckered muscle. It rubbed against Michael's entrance and his partner jerked at the sensation, pushing back eagerly with his hips._

_"Yes…" Michael murmured over the sound of the water, lifting his head._

_Michael's body opened easily to Damien's slick finger and his partner groaned, his fingers curling against the shower wall. Damien stretched Michael quickly but carefully, a second finger joining the first until he found the spot deep inside that made his partner shake._

_Michael pushed his hips back again, trying to draw Damien's fingers in even further as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes blown wide._

_"Need you in me, Damien…please…" he ground out._

_Damien's breath caught at the plea and his cock throbbed hard in response. He let his fingers slip from Michael's body and took himself in hand. He stroked his cock once, twice, felt it release a burst of precome, and pressed the wet, swollen head against the small muscle._

_He pushed forward, watching in erotic fascination as Michael's body drew him in, surrounding him in tight heat. Twin groans echoed off the walls as they joined together so intimately. Damien had to pause as the last inch of his cock slipped inside his partner, so overwhelmed by the intense sensation. He dropped his forehead against the nape of Michael's neck, his arms holding him close._

_"Oh fuck, Mike…" he whispered hoarsely._

_He felt the small tremors racing under Michael's bare skin. "Feels so fucking good," Michael panted and pushed back against Damien's groin._

_Damien sucked in a sharp breath at the unspoken request and lifted up, his arms dropping down to Michael's waist, his hands grasping Michael's hips. He shifted his own hips back, pulling his cock nearly all the way out of Michael's body, until only the head remained. He pressed forward then in one, smooth motion and it was Michael's turn to gasp, his eyes squeezing shut as Damien fell into an ages-old rhythm._

_He slid his cock in and out of Michael over and over as the water continued to caress them with its warmth, their panting breaths the soundtrack as Damien took them higher and higher, to the edge of the cliff._

_He felt Michael shaking as he pleaded, "Deeper…harder…"_

_Damien pushed in again and Michael threw his head back with a hoarse groan. Damien knew he was on the razor edge of release, his own orgasm licking up his spine, pooling low in his groin. He couldn’t hold back any longer…_

_"Oh, Christ, Mike…" Damien's eyes squeezed shut, his hands tightening on Michael's hips. "I need…I can't…"_

_"Do it," Michael gasped. "Want to feel you…"_

_Needing to fall over the cliff together, Damien reached one hand around his partner and down between his legs. Michael's cock was hot and rock hard, straining against his palm. He stroked him swiftly, once, twice…and Michael came undone. He tossed his head back, shouting Damien's name, his cock jerking in Damien's grasp, his release coating Damien's hand and the shower wall._

_Damien let go then, his climax racing through him as Michael's body constricted around him. He felt his cock pulse over and over, filling Michael with his release…_

 

Damien startled fully awake, gasping, as he felt himself start to come. His hand darted down into his briefs and he jerked his swollen cock sharply, his head arching back into the pillow, mouth falling open as the thick, white ropes of his climax painted his stomach.

 

He sagged, breathing deep as his orgasm subsided a long minute later. He lay still for a moment, coming back to himself, the fantasy drifting away, leaving him feeling empty inside. He blew out a long breath and removed his hand from his briefs, reaching for the box of kleenex on the bedside table. He cleaned up his hand, his cock and his stomach before wadding up the ball of soiled tissues and lobbing it across the room and into the trash can.

 

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, thankful the shower was still running. He needed a few minutes to himself. To think about Michael.

 

He remembered the first time he saw Michael, in Kuala Lumpur, watching him intently as Damien fought in the ring. Damien had been surrounded by a mass of people, all yelling and shouting, yet his eyes had been immediately drawn to the one man who stood there, unmoving, pinning him with his gaze. Little did he know how his life was about to change with the appearance of the stranger in the light blue t-shirt.

 

When he discovered the man in his room ten minutes later, helping himself to a cup of tea, his first thought was that he had no doubt he could seduce the uptight Brit and have him down on his knees in front of him in record breaking time. Until he saw the wedding ring.

 

Damien loved sex and he wasn't particular about who he slept with—men, women—it was all good, it was all fun. But he drew the line at a wedding ring. He wouldn't be part of someone cheating. Someone's dirty little secret on the side. So instead of fucking the soldier, he elected to fight alongside him instead.

 

Didn't mean he didn't _think_ about having sex with Michael. Quite often. But the more he got to know his partner, he was glad that Kerry was in the picture. A buffer. Because Michael was a genuinely good person. And Damien…was not.

 

Damien's past was dirty and ugly. His confession to Michael and Dalton about his time in the CIA had only been the tip of the iceberg. The last thing he wanted to do was taint Michael in any way with his darkness.

 

Because he already knew he'd want more with Michael than casual fucks. But who knew if Michael even wanted that kind of relationship in the first place. And none of that mattered anyway because who was he kidding? Damien and long-term relationships just didn't mix. Never had, never will. He’d just fuck things up with Michael and end up losing the first true friend he’d had in a decade.

 

Besides, Michael was married. Off-limits. End of story. He had his wet dreams and that would have to be enough for him.

 

Damien sighed, closing his eyes. Only now Kerry was gone. Michael was no longer off-limits. And temptation was standing naked in the next room. But Damien wouldn't step into that room. He couldn't do that to Michael.

 

Because he deserved so much better than Damien.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

By the time Michael finished his shower, Damien had once again wrangled his forbidden thoughts back into the deep corner of his mind and slammed the cage door shut firmly behind them. But he still looked away when Michael emerged from the bathroom, wearing only a tiny hotel towel slung low across his hips, his well-toned body still damp. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he passed by Damien.

 

"All yours, mate," he said, and out of the corner of his eye Damien saw his partner nonchalantly tug off the towel to give his body a quick wipe down.

 

In the military you had zero expectation of privacy and he and Michael had seen each other in every state of undress and nakedness over the course of their missions. It was no big thing. Until it was. Until you _wanted_ to look.

 

Damien clenched his jaw and nodded, rising stiffly from the bed, forcefully averting his eyes from his partner, thinking for the first time that maybe this road trip had been a bad idea.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

For an out of the way spot on the edge of the city, the Garden of Eat'n Diner had quite a large breakfast crowd, Damien noted as he pushed open the door, a bell tinkling overhead. He breathed in deep of the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon, feeling his mouth start to water.

 

"Sit anywhere you'd like!"

 

Damien looked toward the female voice, a harried waitress carrying a pot of coffee and balancing two full plates of food. Damien nodded in acknowledgement and led his partner past tables full of hungry patrons to an empty booth. They had no more than slid into the bench seats and another waitress appeared. Her nametag said _Brandi_. She was in her mid-twenties, long blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her pink uniform shirt stretched across her ample breasts, matching red lipstick and nail polish. She gave Damien a playful smile, looking him up and down. Damien returned the smile and thought it was a shame that he and Michael were checking out of the motel this morning. He wouldn't have minded spending some quality time with Brandi after her shift, take the edge off.

 

Brandi handed menus to both he and Michael. "Get you guys something to drink?" she asked.

 

"Coffee," Damien instantly replied, turning over the coffee mug on the table in front of him.

 

"Tea, please," said Michael.

 

"Sweetened or unsweetened?" Brandi responded and Michael looked confused.

 

Damien leaned toward Brandi. "He means hot tea, sweetheart."

 

"Oh." Now Brandi looked confused.

 

Damien shrugged. "He's British."

 

"Oh!" Brandi giggled, nodding her head, and Damien nearly laughed himself. He could tell the perky waitress had no idea what he meant.

 

"Well, ummm…I'll see what I can do," she said to Michael and turned back to Damien. "I'll give you a minute with the menus."

 

"No need." Damien reached over and plucked the large, laminated menu from Michael's hands.

 

"Oi!"

 

Damien ignored his partner's protest. He needed to take charge before he ordered some sort of pansy egg white omelet and dry toast.

 

"We'll both have scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns and a side of pancakes."

 

Brandi winked at Damien. "You got it." She scrawled their order on her pad, pivoted on her heel and walked off toward the kitchen.

 

Damien looked to Michael. "That's what we call a Full American," he joked, playing on the Brits famous full English breakfast. "You'll love it."

 

Michael shook his head. "It's amazing you haven't had a heart attack by now."

 

Damien laughed as Brandi appeared again, a pot of steaming black coffee in one hand and a mug of hot water in the other. She set the mug down in front of Michael and fished in her waitress apron, withdrawing a single, sad looking tea bag. Damien had to stifle a chuckle behind his hand. Michael took the offered tea bag and dangled it in front of himself, staring at it dubiously.

 

"Umm…cheers," he said to Brandi, dropping it into the hot water.

 

Brandi leaned over the table as she filled Damien's coffee mug, her breasts six inches from Damien's face. "Food'll be out in a few." She smiled and winked again before moving off back into the bustling restaurant.

 

"God, I love American girls," Damien breathed with a lewd grin.

 

Michael rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a long trip with frequent…pit stops, isn't it?" he asked and Damien laughed. "What exactly _is_ the plan, mate? Where are we going?"

 

Damien leaned forward, his arms resting on the formica tabletop. "We need to get a cab back into the city, head to Racer's bike shop, pick up our rides. Then we'll need supplies. Once we're stocked up, I've got two places for us to visit here in Fairbanks." Damien paused, grinning to himself, picturing his partner's reaction to the first tourist attraction. He sat back in his seat, spreading his hands out. "After that, it's just you and me and the open road."

 

Michael tipped his head, a small, warm smile crossing his face. "I like the sound of that," he said quietly, pinning Damien with a look that made his pulse jump and his stomach flip, the sounds of the restaurant falling away, as if he and Michael were the only two people in the room.

 

Damien was unable to look away from the expression on Michael's face, one that he had never seen directed at him before, and it left him off-kilter, unsure of how to respond.

 

Thankfully the moment was broken by the reappearance of Brandi with their plates of hot food and Damien busied himself with his breakfast, averting his eyes from Michael, pondering for the second time if this road trip was a bad idea.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Despite it being early summer, a fine layer of snow had fallen overnight, and Damien tugged up the zipper on his jacket as he and Michael exited the cab in front of Trails End BMW in downtown Fairbanks. Damien grinned as the snow crunched under his boots as he retrieved his duffel from the trunk. He couldn't have asked for better weather for their first destination after picking up their rides.

 

The Trails End showroom was large and impressive. Motorcycles of every size and shape were on display, their chrome gleaming in the overhead lights. Several patrons wandered among them, nodding and pointing. Damien whistled low and it was echoed by his partner. What he wouldn't give to own a few of these suckers.

 

A door opened just behind the main counter, catching Damien's attention. He turned to see a native Alaskan man step out. He was tall and broad-shouldered with honey brown skin and jet black hair that was pulled into a braid and hung halfway down his back. He was wearing a tight, plain white t-shirt that stretched across his chest, a black leather vest and matching black pants.

 

Damien smiled and stepped forward, dropping his duffel and extending his hand. "You must be Racer."

 

The man let out a deep laugh and came around the counter. He shook Damien's hand warmly. "And you must be Scott. Only Charlie still calls me Racer."

 

"Delta call signs are forever."

 

Racer slapped Damien on his upper arm. "Don't you know it, bro!" He turned to Michael. "And you must be Stonebridge."

 

Michael nodded, set his duffel down as well and shook Racer's hand. "Cheers. Pleasure to meet you."

 

"Thanks for helping us out, man," Damien said to Racer.

 

"Anything for a friend of Charlie's," Racer replied easily. "Come on in the back, I've got everything ready for you."

 

Racer led them through the showroom and through a door that led to the garage. Several bikes were up on racks, being repaired, mechanics moving around them. The smell of motor oil and machine parts drifted through the air. Damien and Michael followed Racer toward the large front door of the garage. Damien's eyes widened and he let out another whistle at the pair of top-of-the-line, white BMW R1200 GS's sitting side by side.

 

Damien shot a glance at Racer. "No shit?"

 

Racer laughed. "No shit, bro. Like I said, the best for Charlie's buddies."

 

Michael pointed to the various items peeking out of the open side boxes on the motorcycles as they drew to a stop next to them. "You've got us kitted up as well?"

 

Racer nodded. "Charlie said you'd be wanting to hit the road pretty quick, so I saved you the hassle of going 'round town, scrounging for supplies. Everything there'll get you to Juneau, no problem. Just leave the bikes in airport parking and my guys will pick them back up."

 

Damien clapped Racer on his shoulder. "Can't thank you enough for this, man."

 

"You fellas just enjoy your trip. You're gonna love these rides." He hooked a thumb toward the garage door. "Why don't you guys ride them 'round front, pick up your bags and I'll give you my contact info in case something happens," Racer said, then walked back into the garage.

 

Damien leaned over to peer in the side boxes to see what supplies Racer had packed for them, saw Michael doing the same. Inside he found several bottles of water, packages of trail mix and beef jerky, a flashlight, first aid kit, two packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a rain poncho, leather driving gloves that he tugged on and something wrapped in a thick towel. He withdrew the towel and pulled it back slightly to reveal the neck of a whiskey bottle. Damien chuckled. Charlie knew him well. He'd be saving that for a drink with Michael tonight.

 

He closed the boxes and straightened up, saw Michael leaning against his bike, his head cocked.

 

"So…what was yours?" Michael asked.

 

"What was my what?" Damien replied.

 

"Your Delta call sign."

 

Damien paused. It had been a decade since he'd gone by his call sign. He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, bringing back good memories of serving his country with honor and the friends he had fought alongside, which outweighed the conspiracy that had falsely dishonorably discharged him. He cleared his throat.

 

"Crash," he answered, hearing the echoes of his buddies calling out to him.

 

Michael chuckled. "Well, if your driving skills are anything to go by, I can see why you ended up with that moniker."

 

Damien thought back to the day he'd earned that call sign, only a week into his first deployment with Delta—the day he nearly died.

 

"But I take it by the look on your face there's more of a story to it than that," Michael continued, voice softer.

 

Damien came back to himself and nodded, his reply subdued. "Maybe I'll tell you someday." He shook his head to clear the memory and clapped his hands together, a smile on his face. "What do you say we get this party started, dude?"

 

Michael straddled his bike, his hands gripping the handlebars. He nodded with a grin. "Oh, this is brilliant."

 

A moment later twin roars filled the garage as Damien and Michael fired up the engines.

 

"Ha!" Damien laughed over the growl. "Oh fuck, yeah!"

 

Michael gave him a thumbs up and they carefully maneuvered the bikes out the front door of the garage. It took Damien a moment to get his balance, being an unfamiliar bike, but he was riding smooth by the time they circled the dealership and parked out front.

 

"Pretty damn sweet, eh, buddy?" he said to Michael as they walked to the front door.

 

"Why don't we put these bikes _on_ a plane at the airport and ship them back to London?" Michael grinned as they stepped inside.

 

As Damien bent to pick up his bag, he noticed the racks of motorcycle-related merchandise off to the side of the showroom. One thing in particular caught his eye and he strode over to pluck it off the rack. He held up the garish, bright yellow Hawaiian shirt dotted with red palm trees and black motorcycles.

 

"What do you think, Mikey?" he chuckled.

 

"I'm thinking if you buy that shirt I refuse to be seen with you."

 

"Take it!" Racer called out from behind the counter. "On the house, bro!"

 

Damien burst out laughing and stuffed the shirt into his duffel as Michael threw out his arms toward Racer.

 

"Oh, thanks for that, mate!"

 

Damien slapped Michael on his back as his partner shook his head in exasperation.

 

Smiling, Racer held out his business card to them both. "Cell number's on the back. Any issues with the bikes, give me a ring."

 

Damien pocketed the card. "Will do. Thanks again, man," he said as Michael shook Racer's hand.

 

"You guys enjoy yourselves!" Racer waved and called out as Damien and Michael pushed open the door to the showroom and stepped outside into the clear, crisp air.

 

Damien securely attached his duffle on the back of the bike, behind the helmet, which he ignored, slipped on his sunglasses and mounted the bike, as Michael did the same. Damien turned to his partner, a wide grin on his face. He held out his closed fist. "Let's get this road trip started!"

 

Michael bumped his fist against Damien's. "Fucking copy that!"

 

The air was filled with the twin roars of the powerful engines as the two men raced off, side by side, as always.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

After winding their way through downtown Fairbanks at a sedate pace, Damien now sped along the flat stretch of road through the trees, heading north, Michael right next to him. Damien breathed in deep of the crisp, clean air. The dusting of snow on the ground and on the trees shimmered in the bright sunlight, making him feel as if he were riding through a Christmas postcard. Which was rather appropriate, considering their destination. Which Michael still had no clue about.

 

Damien glanced over at his partner, who in turn looked to him with the most relaxed, open, content expression and smile Damien had seen on him since they had parted ways, when Michael left Section 20. He couldn't help but grin in return. For most of the day Damien had been thinking this road trip was a bad idea, but it wasn't about him. It was about _Michael_. And that smile told Damien all he needed to know—he needed to push his own feelings aside, because this _was_ a good idea for his partner. And that's all that mattered.

 

Realizing there was no other traffic on the long stretch of road ahead of them, Damien smirked at Michael and gave his engine a rev, jumping ahead just slightly. Michael laughed and nodded, accepting Damien's challenge of a race.

 

Michael held up three fingers, which was his first mistake. Damien wasn't playing by that stupid "zero" nonsense that Michael insisted was the only proper way to count down. Though technically it had worked when diffusing those nuclear bombs…

 

But still, as soon as Michael began to drop his third finger, Damien hit the accelerator and shot ahead. He could just hear his partner yell out, "Go on ZERO you wanker!" as Damien tore down the road, laughing, the wind whipping against his face, a tiny jolt of adrenaline zinging through his veins. Five seconds later Michael pulled up beside him and gave him the finger as he edged ahead of Damien slightly.

 

"Fuck you, buddy!" he shouted with a laugh and was just about to accelerate even faster when he caught sight in his side mirror a car pulling out of a side road behind them—red and blue lights flashing, siren blaring.

 

Damien groaned as he slowed his bike, coming to a stop, Michael doing the same. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered as the Alaska state trooper squad car pulled up behind them.

 

The mid-fifties, somewhat portly officer heaved himself out of his vehicle and placed his wide-brim hat on his head, immediately calling to mind Smokey the Bear in Damien's mind and the corner of his mouth quirked. The officer adjusted his gun belt and strode up to them as Damien and Michael dismounted their bikes and put down the kickstands.

 

Damien leaned in toward his partner as they both removed their sunglasses. "I'll handle this."

 

Michael shook his head. "I don't think that's—"

 

"Do you boys have any idea how fast you were going?" the officer demanded, interrupting Michael, giving them both a hard stare.

 

"Listen—" Damien began, taking a half step forward. He wasn't going to let some local yokel cop ruin the start of this trip.

 

"I'm sorry, officer," Michael cut him off, clamping a hand down hard on Damien's shoulder, bringing him to a halt. "It was my fault. I've only been in the States for a day and I'm still used to kilometers per hour. I didn't realize I was speeding."

 

"Did you know we have a helmet law in this state?"

 

Michael flicked a glance to Damien, who just shrugged. "Umm, no, sir, I didn't."

 

Actually, Damien did, but he was so used to tearing around on bikes in third world countries without one, he hadn't even thought about wearing the one Racer had provided.

 

The state trooper withdrew his ticket book from the back pocket of his brown trousers. He squinted at Michael. "Where exactly are you from, son?"

 

"He's British," Damien piped up, noticing the officer's name badge said _Jones_.

 

Trooper Jones glanced to Damien then back to Michael. "And what are you doing in Alaska?"

 

"We're on holiday," Michael replied with a smile, obviously trying to get on the officer's good side.

 

"Vacation," Damien said unnecessarily, simply because he wanted to be a smart ass.

 

"Right. Vacation," Michael repeated, his smile tighter, shooting Damien an irritated glance. Damien smirked in reply.

 

Jones looked annoyed at the back-and-forth and flipped open his book. He plucked his pen from his breast pocket and clicked it open. "Well we have laws here in this country and you broke two of them. Let me see your driver's license. Both of you."

 

Damien rolled his eyes and shook his head and Michael kicked his foot. "Yes, of course, officer," Michael said graciously and Damien gave his partner the finger before digging in his wallet and producing his International Drivers Permit and his London-based drivers license. He hadn't had a US license in years.

 

Michael handed over identical documents and Jones looked confused. "You don't sound British to me," he said to Damien.

 

Michael clapped Damien on his back. "Oh no, he's one of yours," he grinned. "We're just borrowing him. We'll give him back when we're through."

 

Damien couldn't help the laugh that escaped him and the expression on Jones's face clearly indicated he was sorry he ever pulled them over. He looked down and scribbled forcefully in his ticket book.

 

"Just where were you headed in such a hurry?" he asked tightly.

 

"The North Pole," Damien answered without hesitation and Michael shot him an incredulous look. Damien knew Michael thought he was deliberately further antagonizing the trooper. But he was honestly telling the truth!

 

The answer didn't phase Jones in the slightest and now Michael looked confused. Damien just smirked at him again.

 

Jones finished writing up their tickets and thrust the paperwork back to Damien and Michael. "Try getting there at the speed limit this time," he growled.

 

"Of course, officer. Absolutely. Cheers," Michael said placatingly with a smile and wave.

 

Jones just tightened his mouth and shook his head, turning and striding back to his patrol car. Damien gave him a jaunty salute as he pulled away before bursting into laughter.

 

He held up his ticket. "Think Twenty will take care of this for us?" he cracked before crumpling up the piece of paper and tossing it over his shoulder.

 

"What was with the bollocks about the North Pole?" Michael laughed as he tucked the ticket in his wallet. "I thought he was going to throw us in restraints after that cheeky lie!"

 

Damien winked at his partner before slipping his sunglasses back on and remounting his bike. "Who said I was lying?"

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

True to his word, Damien led Michael past the "North Pole, Alaska, City Limits" sign about fifteen minutes later. He glanced to his left to see his partner shaking his head and chuckling.

 

Another ten minutes and Damien slowed, pulling into a parking lot with a sign proclaiming "Welcome to Santa Claus House!" at the curb. In front of him was a long, white building with red wood accents that resembled a Swiss chalet. There were murals painted on the walls of Santa Claus, reindeer, snowmen and Christmas trees. Despite the fact it was summer, there were quite a few cars parked outside and adults and children milling about, taking pictures and trying to pet the real, live reindeer through the chain link fence. Damien picked a spot, Michael pulled in next to him and they shut off their engines.

 

"Are you _serious_?" Michael laughed.

 

"I told you. You're a tourist and this is what tourists do!" He reached over and slugged Michael's upper arm. "Now get your ass over there so I can take your picture." He pointed across the way to a massive 40-foot tall fiberglass Santa who loomed over his snowy domain next to the reindeer pens.

 

"Why on _earth_ would I want my picture taken with Father Christmas? I'm not six-years-old!"

 

"Again. You're a _tourist_." Damien explained patiently as he dismounted from his bike, fished his phone out of his pocket and turned on the camera feature. "Tourists take a zillion stupid photos to document their trip." He cracked a grin. "Then when we're all through we'll make you a cute little fuckin' scrapbook called _My First Trip to the United States by Mikey Stonebridge_."

 

Michael rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're such a prat," he said, but got off his bike anyway and started to walk toward the giant Santa Claus. As soon as he turned his back, Damien shoved his phone back in his pocket and quickly scooped up a handful of snow, packed it hurriedly and let the ball fly. The cold snow hit its target—the back of Michael's neck, and slid down inside his jacket and shirt. His partner let out an undignified yelp and Damien threw back his head and laughed as Michael whirled around.

 

"You wanker!" he cursed, then laughed himself as he swiped at the snow, and continued on toward the massive statue.

 

Damien's smile went soft at the sound of Michael's laughter. It was good to hear. They didn’t have much call for fun and games in their line of work. Most especially lately. That was another reason, the true reason actually, that Damien wanted to document this trip. He wanted photos of he and Michael, wanted good memories. More than guns and blood. Just in case… He sighed, thinking of all the close calls they'd had over the course of their missions. He could lose his friend in the blink of an eye…

 

"Oi! Anytime, mate!"

 

Damien came back to himself at Michael's shout to see his partner standing at the base of the giant Santa, hands on his hips. Damien grinned and held up his phone. "Say cheese!"

 

Michael instead held up his middle finger and Damien laughed so hard he nearly couldn't take the picture. "That's fucking perfect! You're on Santa's naughty list now, Mikey!" He pulled up his text message app. "And that is _definitely_ going to Julia and Baxter," he chuckled.

 

He hit Send and when he looked up it was just in time to see a blond-haired little girl, no more than five-years-old, go racing toward the Santa statue and slip on the snowy, wet pavement, pitching forward. He watched Michael's lightning-quick reaction, dropping down and catching the little girl before she could hit the ground, setting her back up on her feet. Damien was too far away to hear what he was saying, but Michael was smiling and holding onto her hand as the little girl nodded. Watching the interaction, Damien felt a pang of sadness at the loss of Michael and Kerry's child. His partner would have made an amazing father.

 

The little girl's mother appeared then, jogging over, and Michael stood as she reached out to shake his hand in thanks. Michael smiled again, nodding, and returned the little girl's wave as she and her mother walked back toward the reindeer.

 

Damien crossed his arms over his chest as Michael joined him. "You just can't help being a hero, even on your day off, can you?" he grinned.

 

The tiniest of blushes spread across Michael's cheeks. "Oh, bugger off."

 

Damien smiled and smacked his partner's arm. "By the way, Baxter and Richmond loved the photo."

 

"You are _such_ an ass."

 

Damien laughed and headed to the front door of the main building. "Come on, let's get you a souvenir!" he called over his shoulder. "Every tourist needs one!" He grinned as he heard Michael give an exasperated sigh, but follow along behind him anyway.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They were back on the road a half hour later, headed to their next destination, souvenirs stashed safely away. Damien had picked up a soldier ornament for Baxter, a British flag ornament for Richmond and had sneaked in a stocking for his partner with _Mike_ embroidered on it, along with a small stuffed moose wearing a Santa hat. He was tempted to get a lump of coal for Dalton, but after a disapproving look from his partner, he put it back on the shelf. He wasn't positive, but he thought he saw Michael buying a tiny snowglobe, which made Damien smile inwardly that he was slowly getting into this trip, despite his protests.

 

They drove back south, back into Fairbanks, and when they pulled to a stop at a traffic light, Michael looked over to Damien.

 

"Where exactly are you taking me now?" he asked.

 

"It's just up the road," Damien answered, then smirked. "Someplace I know where you'll fit right in, buddy."

 

Two miles later, Damien pulled into the packed parking lot of a local bar—Skinny Dick's.

 

"Very funny, Scott," Michael said dryly and Damien laughed. "Though don't forget, mate…" he glanced pointedly at Damien's crotch. "I've seen what you have on offer. People in glass houses and all that…" he smirked.

 

Damien laughed harder. "Ouch, dude!" He swung his leg over his bike. "What do you say we take our skinny dicks inside and grab a brew? And maybe a lady to give us an honest comparison. Strictly for scientific purposes only, of course," he winked.

 

Michael shook his head as he followed Damien inside. "Of course."

 

For the middle of the afternoon, the bar was jumping. People were milling about, drinks in hand, chatting and laughing. There was a darts game going on in the corner, next to a counter full of Skinny Dick's merchandise. Everything from hats to t-shirts to underwear to shot glasses.

 

They found themselves a pair of stools and ordered up two beers, and at Damien's suggestion, a basket of chicken wings. They ate and drank in companionable silence, simply relaxing, enjoying each other's company and the lively atmosphere, chatting with the very pretty red-haired bartender. Well, _Michael_ was doing most of the chatting, the buxom woman apparently enthralled with his partner's foreign accent. And she had more than a hint of an invitation in her green eyes, directed solely at Michael. Damien hadn't wanted to stay long, as they had a good ride ahead of them, but he was more than willing to extend their pit stop if Michael wanted to indulge. The distraction could be good for him. So he decided to give his partner a few minutes of privacy.

 

Damien stood and hooked a thumb toward the back of the bar. "I gotta go drain my skinny dick," he grinned at Michael, then tilted his head toward the bartender and winked at his partner. "Be back in a few, buddy."

 

He slapped Michael on his shoulder and weaved his way through the bar to the bathroom, past the dart boards and the merchandise counter. He did his business, lingering for a bit, then took a few minutes more on his way back, looking over the products for sale. He laughed at one of them, at the play on words, and bought it, imagining Michael's reaction. He shot a quick look over to the bar, saw Michael still in conversation with the bartender and snuck outside. He jogged over to Michael's bike, unpeeled the long white sticker and slapped it on the side of the gas tank. With a chuckle he headed back inside and over to his partner. The red-head smiled and walked away down the bar with a wink.

 

Damien nudged Michael's shoulder. "So…is she gonna do that scientific study on you?" he leered.

 

Michael swiveled on his bar stool and stood. "Umm…no."

 

Damien frowned and glanced down to the bartender, who gave him a small smile and a shrug. "You sure? I got no problem making myself scarce for a bit."

 

Michael started walking to the front door. "Yes, Scott, I'm sure."

 

"Well never say I don't think about you, dude!"

 

Michael turned and laid his hand on the top of Damien's shoulder. "And I appreciate you looking out for my well-being, mate, but…she's not what I'm looking for."

 

He held Damien's gaze steadily for a long heartbeat and Damien felt that weird flutter in his pulse again. He swallowed and nodded his head. "Okay, Mike."

 

His partner squeezed his shoulder, gave him a small smile and turned and walked outside, leaving Damien to stare after him curiously for a brief moment before following him.

 

He'd nearly forgotten about the bumper sticker he'd slapped on Michael's motorcycle until his partner came to a sudden stop next to his bike. Damien put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh as he read it again: I ♥ DICK'S

 

Damien fully expected his partner to cuss him out and attempt to remove the sticker, but to his surprise, Michael simply gave him a mysterious, enigmatic look, mounted his bike and cranked the engine.

 

Once again caught off-guard at his friend's response, Damien just stood there, brow slightly furrowed, until Michael looked patiently over his shoulder at him.

 

"Coming, mate?"

 

Damien took a stutter step toward his bike. "Yeah…" he replied distractedly, thinking he caught a hint of a smile playing at the corner of Michael's mouth before his partner turned away, leaving Damien even more confused.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They rode south for six hours, stopping once for dinner and a bathroom break, snacking on the bags of trail mix as they drove. The scenery was breathtaking, the forests and mountains a welcome respite from the hot and dry African landscape they'd spent too much time in recently. More than once he saw Michael looking around him with that same content expression, and he wished he could pull out his phone and take a picture to capture it. Because contentment for soldiers was rare, and fleeting.

 

It was getting dark, and Damien scanned the road signs for a place to spend the night. They'd finish up their Alaskan journey with several more hours ride to Juneau in the morning to catch their flight to Seattle.

 

A few miles later Damien pointed to a billboard advertising the cozy and quaint Slumbering Bear Motel. Michael laughed and nodded and they took the next exit.

 

Ten minutes down the road they pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop in front of the motel's office. There were several cars and SUV's in the lot, most loaded down with luggage, boxes, mountain bikes attached to the back and even a canoe tied to their roofs.

 

"I've got it," Damien said as he shut off his engine and hopped off the motorcycle. Michael nodded and Damien walked inside the office.

 

An elderly couple was behind the counter and they greeted him with warm, friendly smiles.

 

"Welcome to the Slumbering Bear," the plump, gray-haired woman said. "How many rooms will you be needing?"

 

Damien hesitated for a brief second. Should he have asked Michael if he wanted his own room this time? Did his partner still want or need his close company? Damien took the chance that he did. Hoping that he did, as Damien found it was what he wanted.

 

"Just one," he replied, not realizing how that sounded.

 

There was a twinkle in the woman's eyes. "King bed?"

 

Damien's eyebrows shot up at her assumption. "Oh, no, no," he said hurriedly. "Two doubles, please."

 

She grinned and patted Damien's hand. "They're roomy," she winked.

 

Damien's eyes widened and he choked out a laugh as she turned to the older gentleman, who handed her a key, which she in turn gave to Damien.

 

"Room 12, around back," she said. "I'm Gladys and this is my husband, Walter. We're the owners, so if you or your friend need anything, you just let us know."

 

Damien adored Gladys and smiled brightly at her as he handed his credit card to Walter. "Absolutely, ma'am," he drawled, winking back and she blushed.

 

"You're all set, young man," Walter said, handing Damien back his credit card. "Enjoy your stay."

 

"We will," he grinned, then turned and walked out of the office, chuckling.

 

"What's so funny?" Michael asked as Damien came to a stop between their bikes.

 

Damien shook his head. "It's good to know that sometimes people can still surprise me." He held up the single key. "We're around the back. Room 12."

 

Damien waited to see if his partner would make a comment about the single room, but Michael only nodded and started up his motorcycle. "Sounds good," he replied and drove off slowly through the parking lot, Damien following a moment later.

 

They got themselves settled in short order, bringing in their duffels, Damien snagging the bottle of whiskey as well. He ran a washcloth over his face and neck while Michael opted for a quick shower. While his partner washed off the road dust, Damien opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the small cement patio, which held a single chair and tiny table. Just out from the patio was a grassy area where two empty picnic tables sat.

 

It was warmer here in southern Alaska, having left the snow behind, so Damien opted to sit at one of the picnic tables in the fading light. He placed the bottle of whiskey down, along with two plastic motel cups and took a seat. He dug in his pants pocket and pulled out a semi-crushed packet of cigarettes and his lighter. A flick of his thumb and the small flame ignited the end of his cigarette. He lay the pack and lighter down on the table and took a long drag before exhaling the smoke slowly, enjoying the peace and quiet. He closed his eyes. No sounds of gunfire, explosions, people screaming…just silence…

 

He sat there as the sun continued it's descent, his cigarette just finished when Michael joined him. His partner sat next to him on the bench seat, their shoulders nearly touching. Damien smelled the clean, fresh scent of the soap Michael had used, saw droplets of moisture clinging to the tips of his short hair.

 

"Hey," Michael said softly.

 

"Hey," Damien echoed, pausing for a moment, holding Michael's gaze before reaching for the bottle. "Drink?" he asked, unscrewing the top.

 

"Absolutely."

 

Damien poured them both a healthy shot in the little plastic cups.

 

"Today was a good day," Michael commented as he accepted the drink from Damien.

 

Damien gave a small grin. "It was, wasn't it?" He raised his cup and Michael did the same. "To state troopers, Santa and Skinny Dick's."

 

"Cheers, mate," Michael said with a chuckle and a warm smile.

 

Damien touched his cup to Michael's. "Cheers, buddy."

 

The alcohol was a pleasant slow burn going down and Damien closed his eyes to savor it. He heard Michael murmur his approval as well. He opened his eyes and poured them both another shot, which they sipped this time, enjoying the vibrant sunset.

 

Damien turned to his partner, Michael's features bathed in shades of soft pinks and oranges, his expression open and relaxed. Michael's hazel eyes seemed to be clearing of the shadows Damien had seen in them since Kerry's death. A smile tugged at the corner of Michael's mouth and he started to say something when the sound of a sliding glass door opening caught both their attentions.

 

Two rooms down to their left, a family emerged—mom, dad, an eight-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy. They went out into the grassy area and started kicking a soccer ball back and forth, laughing and running. Michael chuckled at their antics, and they watched the family play for several minutes.

 

When Michael turned back to Damien his expression was subdued.

 

"Back in Johannesburg," Michael began. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my comment about your parents. You never talk about your family…"

 

Damien blinked at the unexpected topic. He took a drink, shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing, when in reality it still felt like an open wound, the destruction of his family. "Not much to say. My parents split up when I was thirteen. Dad moved out of state, Mom's drinking got worse. I took care of my younger brothers for the next five years. Then when I turned eighteen I got the hell out and joined the Army. Haven't really had any contact with them since." He shrugged again. "And now here I am." He cleared his throat, glancing away from Michael's sympathetic expression. He took another drink. "What about you? I don't think I've heard you mention your family, either."

 

Now it was Michael's turn to glance away. "My father was a Royal Marine. He was killed in the Falklands when I was a toddler. Lost my mother just a few years later. I was put into care and grew up in foster homes. As soon as I left school I joined the service, too." He looked back to Damien and shrugged as well. "And now here I am," he mimicked, trying to smile and failing.

 

Damien was hit hard by his partner's story. "Shit, Mike. I'm so sorry. Your parents would be damn proud of you."

 

Mike gave a short nod. "Thanks, mate."

 

They sat in silence for a long minute, watching the happy family again, until Damien spoke, his voice quiet.

 

"I think I was looking for the family I never really had, with the Army. You?" he asked, opening up about his thoughts and feelings more than he ever had with anyone. But he had a level of trust with Michael that he'd never had with anyone, either. He felt…safe. For the first time in a long time.

 

Michael turned to him, his expression just as vulnerable as Damien's, saw that same trust reflected back at him and Damien's breath caught in his throat.

 

"Yeah," Michael replied quietly. "I wanted that feeling of…belonging."

 

Damien took a breath, feeling the atmosphere changing around them, becoming charged with…something indefinable. "Did you find it?"

 

Michael leaned in, his body just touching Damien's. "I have now," he whispered.

 

It slammed into Damien then with the force of a ten-ton truck, Michael's words and actions over the last two days rushing back to him—getting the single room, liking the idea of just he and Damien on the road together, turning down the blatant offer from the female bartender, his strange reaction to the bumper sticker…combined with the open, unguarded expression on Michael's face, at the underlying meaning in his words, at the invitation in his eyes…

 

Jesus Christ.

 

The heat from Michael's body was overwhelming Damien, the increasing sensation of the intimacy of the moment trying to overpower rational thought. Damien felt himself giving in, his gaze flicking down to Michael's mouth, then back up again. He started to close the small distance between them as Michael's eyes began to slide closed.

 

The breaking of his partner's gaze was the bucket of ice water that jolted Damien back to himself and he pulled away sharply.

 

No! He swore he wouldn't do this to Michael. _Couldn't_ do this to Michael. He thought Damien was what he wanted, but he was so wrong. Damien would be the worst thing for him.

 

Michael's eyes opened in confusion when Damien abruptly shifted back, his movements jerky as he stood up from the table, needing to get away from the temptation while he still could. He turned away quickly, heading for the patio door, but not fast enough to miss the unmistakable flash of disappointment that crossed his partner's face.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien blinked open bleary eyes at 5:12 am the next morning. He was lucky if he'd gotten two hours of sleep last night. And from the sound of his partner's breathing in the bed beside him, Michael had been awake most of the night as well.

 

Damien released a long, quiet breath and lay still. He could sense the heavy, uncomfortable atmosphere in the room hadn't changed, the elephant still sitting in the corner, waiting to be acknowledged. Damien had run from it last night, leaving a confused Michael sitting at the picnic table.

 

He'd gone straight through their room, out the front door, and threw himself onto his bike. He tore out of the parking lot and sped off into the night. He drove for more than an hour, picking random roads until ending up on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. He sat there for hours more, lighting up one cigarette after another from the stash Racer had packed, trying to clear his head. It didn't work, his thoughts and feelings about Michael tumbling through him. He knew he'd made the right decision in pulling away, but in the process had he destroyed the friendship he'd been fighting so hard to keep?

 

The question followed him back to the motel, where he found the lights off and Michael laying in bed. He knew his partner wasn't asleep, felt Michael's eyes tracking his every movement as he undressed and crawled into bed himself. Neither of them spoke, Damien having no idea how to even start a conversation about what had almost happened, and the elephant took up residence in the corner.

 

Damien sighed again and ran a hand over his face, his stubble rough against his palm. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He knew that he needed to clear the air between he and Michael if they were to continue on this trip. Another couple weeks on the road not speaking wouldn't do either of them any good. Problem was, Damien still had no idea what to say.

 

Hoping a long, hot shower would help him focus, he rose from the bed and headed toward the bathroom, having to pass by the foot of Michael's bed. He didn't look directly at his partner, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael watching him and the weight of his stare bore into Damien's back.

 

When he stepped out of the bathroom a good ten minutes later, his few random ideas on how to start a conversation with Michael dissipated like the steam from his shower. His partner was sitting on the edge of his bed and he looked up at Damien with a hopeful expression. But when Damien passed him by without a word, the expression changed to one of confusion and disappointment and he pushed himself to his feet, walking stiffly into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

 

Damien exhaled sharply and sagged down onto his bed, leaning forward and dropping his face into his hands. " _Fuck_."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The heavy silence continued as they began packing up, moving stiltedly around one another, the tension in the room thick. Damien needed to explain himself, _now_. Right after he took his duffel outside. But as he went to move past Michael, his partner reached out and placed a hand on his bicep.

 

"Damien…"

 

Damien was brought up short by the rare use of his first name, stopping to finally look directly at Michael.

 

Michael's fingers flexed on his arm then he let his hand drop. "About last night…I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have…"

 

Damien shook his head. "No. Mike, it's me. I _can't_ …"

 

Michael's brow furrowed. "Why?" He took a half step closer to Damien, extending his hand, but Damien stepped back and Michael let his hand fall.

 

Damien swallowed, but his voice was still rough. "Because I'm not what you need, Mike. And what we have here, right now," He gestured between them. "I don’t want to fuck that up. It's been a long time since I've trusted someone enough to have my back."

 

Michael paused, conflicting emotions crossing his face, his gaze steady on Damien. After a long moment his expression cleared and he nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Copy that."

 

The corner of Damien's mouth turned down. "Really, Mike? I've already fucked this up, haven't I?" he said, seeing the bond between them start to fray right before his eyes.

 

Michael shook his head. "No, mate," he replied sincerely. "I think you're selling yourself short, but we're good." His eyes grew serious. "There's no one I'd trust more to have my back than you as well."

 

He stepped forward again, to walk past Damien, but reached out to curl a hand around the side of Damien's neck, squeezing gently, letting his fingers trail down Damien's chest as he continued past him and out the door.

 

Damien felt the heat of Michael's touch for hours.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

In Washington, they did more than talk

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time they boarded their plane in Juneau, it was as if the previous night had never happened. They talked and joked, dissipating any residual awkwardness with their laughter, and Damien was confident their friendship was still intact as he closed his eyes for a much needed nap over Canada.

 

Once in Seattle, they collected their duffels and grabbed a cab outside the airport. Just a short time later they were dropped off in front of Ride West, the local BMW bike shop that Damien's friend Charlie owned. The showroom was fairly empty in the middle of the afternoon, the bell above the door announcing their arrival fairly loud in the quiet. A man sitting at a large desk picked his head up from his paperwork and a broad grin spread across his face, which Damien returned.

 

The man stood and spread his arms out. "Crash, you asshole! C'mere!"

 

Damien laughed. "Good to see you, too, Digger!"

 

A wave of nostalgia, tinged with melancholy, flowed through Damien as he smiled at his friend and crossed the showroom floor, Michael following. He'd been reminded of his service in Delta more in the last few days than he had in the last ten years. And Lieutenant Charlie Tucker had been a big part of that time in Damien's life.

 

Nearly ten years older than Damien, the tall, sandy-haired man with the gruff exterior had seen something in Damien and took him under his wing. Damien had entered Delta a cocky asshole and Charlie quickly knocked him down more than a few pegs, then built him up into the expert soldier he was to become. Damien owed his mentor much. Charlie was one of the few that had stood by his side when the trumped up drugs charges were brought against him. Charlie believed Damien when he said he was innocent and being set up. He had done all he could for Damien, but in the end was helpless to stop his dishonorable discharge. But Damien never forgot Charlie's loyalty and Charlie never forgot about his former soldier. It had been years since they'd seen one another in person, but kept in sporadic touch via email. This was a reunion Damien had been looking forward to.

 

Charlie came out from behind the desk as Damien approached and set his duffel down. They clasped hands warmly and Charlie drew Damien in for a one-armed hug. He slapped Damien on the back as they drew apart.

 

"You're lookin' good, son!"

 

Damien looked his former commanding officer up and down. There were a few more lines on Charlie's face and a few grey hairs at his temples, but his physique was as fit as ever.

 

"You're not looking too bad yourself, old man," Damien smirked. He turned and indicated to Michael as his partner set his bag down. "Digger, this is Michael Stonebridge. Mike, meet Lieutenant Charlie Tucker."

 

Michael stepped forward and the two men shook hands. "Cheers," he said. "Good to meet you."

 

"My sympathies for having to be partnered with this dick," Charlie winked. "I tried my best, but some things are just ingrained."

 

Michael nodded his head solemnly but his eyes were laughing. "As I've discovered. Some blokes are just born that way."

 

Damien gave them both the finger and Michael and Charlie laughed.

 

Damien gestured to the showroom, impressed. "Civilian life is treating you well."

 

"I definitely can't complain," Charlie replied. "Business has been great."

 

"I'm happy for you, man," Damien said sincerely. Delta operators like Charlie, who had been in the game for as long as he had didn't always get a happy ending, a retirement. They usually got a box six feet under.

 

"Thank you for hooking us up with Racer," Michael said. "And for letting us borrow a couple of your bikes as well."

 

"Hey, my pleasure!" Charlie clapped Damien on his shoulder. "Anything for Crash. Grab your gear and come on in back. I've got everything ready for you." He looked over his shoulder as he led Damien and Michael across the showroom. "Truth be told, I'm damn jealous of you both. Been a hell of a long time since I've done a road trip like you're doing."

 

Charlie took them into the garage, a similar set up as at Racer's dealership. Damien instantly spied a pair of bikes identical to the ones they'd ridden through Alaska sitting off to the side, loaded down with supplies.

 

Michael nodded appreciatively. "Thanks for this, mate," he said to Charlie, and went to inspect everything strapped onto the bike.

 

Damien went to do the same, but Charlie tugged him off to the side, a few feet away from Michael. Charlie's expression was serious.

 

"How are you, Damien? Really?" he asked quietly.

 

"I'm good, Dig, really," Damien reassured his friend who was still looking out for him, even after all this time.

 

Charlie nodded slowly. "I was glad to hear you got out of the Agency, but I've been worried about you these last few years. Working with the Brits, getting back in the game—it's what you needed."

 

"Yeah," Damien agreed. "It was." He thought back to the set of circumstances that brought Michael into his life, how being given the chance to be a soldier again had pulled him out of the hole he'd fallen in. It also reminded him of the woman who had given him that chance, and why. Damien lowered his voice. "Dig…I found the proof I was looking for. That I was set up in Iraq. The drugs, the WMDs, all of it."

 

Charlie's eyes widened. "No shit." Then his brow furrowed. "But you obviously haven't blown the whistle on the conspiracy. Why the hell not?"

 

Damien looked over at Michael, thought about the scandal that might have destroyed Section Twenty if the truth came out, even though Grant had paid the ultimate price for her role in the cover up with her death.

 

"I couldn't," he simply said, still looking at Michael.

 

"You've really found your place with them, haven't you?" Charlie cocked his head, looked at Damien pointedly. "Or just with him?"

 

Damien felt his face heat up. He shook his head. "It's not like that—" he started.

 

"You said you're doing all this for him, right?"

 

"He's going through some rough shit right now. I'm just trying to help him through it. That's all."

 

Charlie studied him for a moment and Damien knew he was seeing right through him. But Charlie just nodded. "Either way, he's lucky to have you. You're a good man, Damien."

 

Caught off-guard at Charlie's words, Damien was at a loss as to how to even respond, but was saved from trying by Charlie clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

 

"Now come on and let's get you boys on the road!"

 

Damien followed Charlie back over to Michael, who was just strapping his duffel to the back of his bike. Damien glanced over everything that was already loaded onto his, nodding appreciatively. He saw a compact, two-person tent, a sleeping bag, a backpack, a rain slicker, a canteen and a helmet. He crouched down, flipping open the lids on both side boxes and found much the same supplies Racer had given them, including another bottle of whiskey, plus camping cooking gear. As he dug down a little deeper he discovered a box of condoms and a tube of lube. Damien shot Charlie a withering look and Charlie just winked at him.

 

"We've got some beautiful country around here, so I threw in the tent and camping gear," Charlie said. "Thought you soldiers might enjoy sleeping under the stars."

 

"Yeah, that's brilliant," Michael replied with a smile, then stepped forward to shake Charlie's hand once more. "Thanks again, Lieutenant."

 

"Glad we got to meet, Michael." Charlie glanced over to Damien and back. "You take care of my boy, hear?"

 

His words were said lightly, but Damien heard the underlying meaning. Michael must have, too, for his gaze and words were as steady and firm as his handshake.

 

"Copy that."

 

Charlie gave him a small nod and Michael walked back and swung a leg over his bike, slipping on his sunglasses. Charlie turned to Damien next and they clasped hands warmly.

 

"Crash."

 

"Digger."

 

Charlie pulled Damien in for a quick, strong embrace. "Don't let it be five damn years before I see you again."

 

"Promise," Damien replied, and he meant it.

 

"Keep up the good fight, soldier. And watch your six," Charlie said with a salute, which Damien returned before hopping astride his bike.

 

They fired up their engines in synch, and with a final wave to them both, Charlie walked back toward the showroom. Damien stretched his arm out to Michael, his hand closed into a fist.

 

"Ready to see what's down the road?" he grinned.

 

Michael bumped their fists together. "Lead on, mate!"

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Their route through Washington took them past Mt. Rainier and the scene was awe-inspiring. They pulled over at a lookout point for a bottle of water and to simply admire the view of the snow-capped mountain and the surrounding landscape. Damien wondered what it must be like to stand on the highest peak, as close to the sky as you could get. How peaceful that must be.

 

Before they left, Damien snapped a picture of Michael with the mountain in the background and then his partner insisted on one with both of them, his arm draped across Damien's shoulders. The former Damien sent to Julia and Baxter. The latter he kept for himself.

 

It was another hour and a half ride before they reached their destination of the city of Granger. Damien's face lit up in a smile when he saw the dinosaur statue standing next to the exit sign on the highway. This stop was as much for him as it was for Michael, an indulgence of a childhood dream of his.

 

Damien led Michael through the streets, where large dinosaur statues dotted the route—a family of maiasaura, an apatosaurus and even a megalosaurus. The look on Michael's face was priceless. A few minutes later they came to a stop at Hisey Dinosaur Park.

 

Families were milling about in the beautiful summer afternoon, children running around, and climbing on, the massive statues, laughing and calling out to one another. Damien spied a velociraptor, a stegosaurus and a triceratops nearby, along with a public restroom shaped like a volcano, the Dino Shop selling snacks and a vendor with a cart full of dino-related merchandise.

 

A broad smile crossed Damien's face as he took it all in. He felt like he was ten-years-old again. He turned to Michael and saw an amused grin on his face.

 

"What on earth is this?" Michael chuckled.

 

"Welcome to the prehistoric age, Mikey!"

 

"I didn't realize I was going to be going on an archeological expedition on this trip," Michael joked.

 

Damien grinned and slapped a hand against Michael's back. "Just make sure you don't get eaten by a Tyrannosaurs Rex. I'd hate to have to try and explain that to Dalton."

 

They spent the next hour wandering through the park, eating hot dogs from the Dino Shop and Damien taking pictures of Michael and himself with the dinosaurs, his normally uptight partner slowly loosening up. When they got to the stegosaurus, Damien insisted Michael climb up on it and sit astride its neck for a photo.

 

Michael quickly glanced around at all of the people. "I am _not_ climbing up there, Scott."

 

Damien pointed. "Get your ass on that dinosaur, Michael!"

 

Damien's shout caught the attention of a few people and they turned to look, causing Michael to cringe.

 

"You're bloody obnoxious, you know that?" he said in mock annoyance.

 

"Part of my charm, buddy! Part of my charm," Damien replied smoothly. "Now get the hell up there!"

 

Michael rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering something that Damien couldn't quite make out, but was pretty positive it was a string of curse words that his partner didn't want the children hearing. Damien huffed out a laugh as Michael heaved himself up the leg of the dinosaur, his boot slipping once on the smooth cement before finally straddling its wide, green neck.

 

"Say 'dinosaur', Mikey!" Damien grinned, holding up his phone.

 

He got Michael's middle finger in reply.

 

"Ha! Another one for the scrapbook!" Damien looked down at his phone. "And another one for Julia and Baxter," he said softer, firing off a quick text message.

 

He looked back up as Michael began climbing down, just in time to see his partner's boot once again slip on the cement. But this time he completely lost his grip on the slick surface.

 

"Shit!" Michael cursed as he fell backwards.

 

Damien sprang forward, intending to catch his partner, but succeeding only in sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangled heap of arms and legs. Looking up at the irritated face of his partner from where he lay on his back, Damien couldn't help but burst out laughing. Michael tried to hold his annoyance but the ridiculousness of the situation quickly set in and he was soon laughing just as hard as Damien.

 

Damien could feel the heat of Michael's body as his partner lay on top of him, feel the strength in his muscular physique. He flexed his fingers against Michael's hip, where his hand had been resting, as his laughter tapered off, feeling his own body begin to betray him and respond at the close contact. Michael's laughter trailed off as well, looking down at Damien with that same open, unguarded expression as the previous night, their faces only inches apart. Neither of them moved for several heartbeats, the moment hanging suspended in the summer air. Then Michael just barely dipped his head and Damien's pulse jumped, but his partner rolled slowly off of him and onto his back, their shoulders still touching.

 

Damien drew in a steadying breath as Michael turned his head to look over at him.

 

"Thank you for this," Michael said sincerely. "For asking me to do this with you." His smile was soft. "I'm glad I'm here."

 

Damien felt a pleasant warmth spread through his body at Michael's words, knowing he'd done right by his partner. He knocked his hand against Michael's. "I'm glad you're here, too."

 

They lay there side by side in the grass for another long minute until the sound of a dog barking close by broke the moment. Damien cleared his throat, forcing himself to break Michael's gaze, and pushed himself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the leg of the stegosaurus. Michael sat up as well and looked out into the rest of the park.

 

"I loved dinosaurs as a kid," Damien shared, once again feeling safe to open up to his partner. He pointed across from them at the large, brown triceratops. "That one was my favorite. My brothers and I would play with these plastic ones we had for hours." Damien smiled at the memory. "I wanted to be an archeologist when I grew up. Travel the world, looking for bones."

 

"Really?" Michael said. "What happened?"

 

Damien's smile faded. "After my folks split up and things went downhill, there wasn't any money for me to go to college." He shrugged, trying to shake off his teenage disappointment. "So it was the Army recruitment office for me instead," he said with fake cheerfulness. "And the rest is history."

 

Michael lay a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, mate." Then a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "But think of it this way—you're still traveling the world! Just looking for terrorists instead of bones."

 

Damien gave a small chuckle. "Thanks for that perspective, buddy."

 

Michael clapped him on the shoulder then tipped his head to the left, where the volcano was. "I'm gonna hit the head. Back in a minute."

 

Michael pushed himself to his feet and Damien nodded, settling himself more comfortably against the dinosaur leg. He watched the kids playing, wondering what his life would have been like if his childhood dream had come true. Then he realized that Michael wouldn't be in it. Maybe things did work out exactly as they were meant to be.

 

The chiming of his phone interrupted his thoughts and he fished it out of his pocket. It was a text message from Julia. He smiled, expecting a reply to the photo of Michael on the dinosaur, but instead what he read set his blood boiling.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he cursed, rising swiftly to his feet just as Michael walked back over.

 

"What is it?" Michael asked quickly.

 

"A text from Julia," Damien began, jaw clenched. "Wanted to let us know that she won't be in touch for a while because Twenty is deploying to Lebanon! She said Dalton and Baxter are going on some undercover op!"

 

" _What?_ Dalton is still supposed to be in hospital!"

 

"I know!" Damien threw his arm out to the side. "She has no fucking business being out in the field already. And taking _Baxter_?" Damien felt a spike of concern for the younger man shoot through him, heightened by the recent change in their relationship. "He has no undercover experience! What the _fuck_ is she thinking?" he demanded, his already less-than-favorable opinion of Dalton falling even further.

 

His partner had always tried to get Damien to be more objective when it came to their commanding officer, but now even Michael looked concerned. "Are we being recalled?"

 

Damien shook his head. "Apparently Dalton can handle this on her own," he ground out. "I don't like this, Mike. Not one damn bit."

 

"I don't either, mate. But there's nothing we can do. Baxter is a damn good soldier. He'll be fine," Michael reassured him.

 

"I know. You're right," Damien replied. "I just don't like the team going out without us." He scrubbed a hand down his face and blew out a breath. He suddenly felt the need to be moving, to be doing something, his good mood gone. "You ready to hit the road?"

 

Without waiting for a reply, Damien strode off through the park, trying to tamp down his feeling of uneasiness.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien was speeding and he knew it. He just didn't give a fuck. He was trying to outrun his anger at Dalton's continued recklessness and disregard for the safety of her team. She was going to get someone killed. Damien brought himself up short with that thought, Sinclair's face suddenly flashing before him, followed by the Major's lifeless body lying in the rain. Damien's jaw clenched and he accelerated even faster.

 

Beside him on his right, Michael was keeping pace, but by the look on his partner's face, he wasn't happy about it. Even less so when flashing blue and white lights appeared behind them, followed by the wail of a siren.

 

"Shit," Damien cursed. He was in no fucking mood for this.

 

Michael's mouth tightened and he shook his head, flashing Damien a clearly annoyed expression.

 

Damien slowed and pulled off onto the shoulder, coming to a stop as Michael did the same. He propelled himself off his bike and started stalking back to the police cruiser when Michael suddenly stepped in front of him. His partner slapped a hand against his chest, bringing Damien to an abrupt halt.

 

Michael pointed a finger in his face. "Don't even think about it," he hissed. Then his face transformed into a wide smile as he turned to face the officer, who was just emerging from their car.

 

The tall, female deputy adjusted her hat over her long, dark hair before closing the door of her patrol car. She took a moment to look Damien and Michael up and down before approaching them, carrying a black book with her.

 

"Good afternoon, officer," Michael began smoothly, still smiling.

 

"Afternoon," she replied, voice flat. "Do you know why I stopped you?"

 

"I was speeding, wasn't I? I apologize, ma'am," Michael said, his expression turning sincere. "This is my first visit to the States and I’m still trying to get used to your miles per hour."

 

Damien felt his anger dissipating, slowly turning to amusement as he watched his partner try and charm his way out of a ticket. It was that damn British accent. Worked on women every damn time. Damien would never admit it out loud, but yeah, he found Michael's voice fucking sexy, too.

 

"And where exactly are you from, Mister…?"

 

"Stonebridge," Michael supplied. "I'm from London."

 

The officer, whose name badge read _Morgan_ , nodded slowly. "Do you have an international driver's permit, Mr. Stonebridge?"

 

"Oh, yes, of course," Michael continued to smile, reaching for his wallet.

 

Officer Morgan nodded toward Damien. "And your friend there. Does he speak?"

 

"He's more of the strong, silent type," Michael answered, shooting Damien a pointed, sideways look as he handed her his paperwork.

 

"I'll need to see your permit, too," she said to Damien.

 

"Absolutely, ma'am," Damien replied, and he could tell Officer Morgan was surprised he was an American.

 

"Where are you from, Mr. Scott?" she asked, brow furrowing, as she looked at Damien's paperwork.

 

"Detroit," he answered.

 

"Then why do you have an international driver's permit?"

 

"I've been…working abroad with Mr. Stonebridge, ma'am."

 

Officer Morgan looked back and forth between them. "You're both military, aren't you?"

 

"Yes, yes we are," Michael smiled again. "And we hold law enforcement officers like yourself in the highest regard."

 

Officer Morgan raised an eyebrow at Michael and the corner of Damien's mouth quirked. His partner was really laying it on thick.

 

"Do you know we have a helmet law in this state?" she asked, ignoring Michael's comment.

 

"No, I apologize again," Michael replied, looking abashed. "But might I say what an absolutely beautiful state Washington is? We don't have views like this in London!" he grinned.

 

Officer Morgan flipped open her black book and clicked her pen. "You may look and sound like James Bond, Mr. Stonebridge, but your charms will not work on me. We have laws in this state and you broke them."

 

Damien put a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter as Michael shot him another annoyed look and Officer Morgan wrote them both tickets.

 

"Enjoy your time in the United States," she said to Michael as she handed him his ticket first, then Damien his. "But I suggest you read up on the rules of the road."

 

With a tip of her head she turned smartly and strode back to her cruiser, turned off the flashing lights and pulled back onto the highway.

 

Damien could no longer hold back his suppressed laughter at Michael's crash and burn. He was actually grateful for the moving violation and Michael's performance to get his mind off of things. He crumpled up the ticket and once again threw it over his shoulder, before smacking Michael on his arm.

 

"Come on, 007," he smirked.

 

Michael gave him a withering glare. "Piss off, Scott."

 

Damien's smile stayed with him for hours.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

During their pit stop for dinner and a bathroom break, Damien suggested they use the equipment that Charlie packed for them and camp out that night. Michael was all for the suggestion, so as the evening grew on they began looking for campsites off the highway. About an hour later Michael spied the blue sign—Whispering Pines Campground—and they took the exit.

 

It was a scenic route through the tall trees and Damien inhaled the clean, fresh pine scent as they approached the campground. With the summer weather being warm and mild, they passed several fully occupied sites before coming across one with just a single tent.

 

They pulled their bikes to a stop, hopped off, and gave the area a quick survey. Each site had its own fire pit and a low, wooden bench in front of it. There were bathroom facilities about a hundred yards away, to their right. Directly in front of them was a small lake, the setting sun glinting off the water.

 

Michael nodded. "Brilliant," he smiled.

 

As they started unpacking their gear and setting up their tent, a young man and woman emerged from the other tent, which was in front of their area and slightly to their left, just far enough away to not feel crowded and give some privacy. They raised their hands and waved in greeting when they saw Damien and Michael. Michael returned the friendly gesture and the couple began setting up their fire.

 

It wasn't long before Damien and Michael had their site in order. The two-man tent was going to be cozy, but it needed to be small enough to fit on the back of a motorcycle. Damien busied himself with getting a fire started from the kindling Michael had collected, while his partner poured a half bottle of water into each of their tin cups to heat up—instant coffee for Damien and tea for Michael, both of which they'd picked up on their earlier stop. Plus a box of donuts for breakfast the next morning. Well, for Damien at least. Michael insisted on granola bars.

 

The fire was burning nicely and the water simmering a short time later. Damien sat back against the bench just as Michael stood.

 

"Forgot something on the bike," he told Damien. "Be right back."

 

Damien nodded and stretched out his legs, taking another deep breath of the clean mountain air. Michael returned a few minutes later and sat beside Damien, mimicking his pose, stretching out, getting comfortable, their shoulders just touching. They sat in companionable silence, drinking their tea and coffee and watched the sun sink low toward the horizon, bathing the landscape in soft shades of pink, yellow and orange. Damien turned to his partner just before the light faded, saw the peaceful expression on Michael's face. A rare and welcome sight, away from the guns and bloodshed that usually surrounded them. Peace was a hard earned commodity when you were a soldier.

 

Movement to his left caught Damien's attention and he glanced over to see the young couple, now silhouetted against the firelight, embrace and begin a long, slow make-out session. A grin played at the corner of Damien's mouth as he watched them kiss. He turned back to Michael, to see if he was watching the show as well, and the grin slid from his face. Michael was indeed watching the couple, but instead of being amused as Damien was, Michael's expression was now pained, and troubled.

 

Damien felt the change in the atmosphere, could sense how unsettled his partner was, his eyes still on the young couple. He saw Michael swallow, his words barely above a whisper.

 

"I didn't love her. Kerry. Not anymore."

 

Damien went stock still, shaken, the confession catching him completely off-guard.

 

Michael turned to him then, his eyes full of guilt. "But the day she died she asked me if we could start over. I told her yes."

 

Damien's brow furrowed. "Why?"

 

"Because I felt guilty for the way I treated her—With Kate. Pulling away after she lost the baby. Running off to find you instead of staying home with her. It was all me. Not her. And I still cared for her. Just not the way she loved me." He paused, took a breath. "My heart was…somewhere else. With someone else…"

 

The meaning in Michael's words was obvious, and Damien's breath caught in his throat. He needed to get up, move away, his resolve crumbling. But he couldn't, pinned by the intensity, the heat, in Michael's gaze. He swallowed hard, shook his head, his voice unsteady.

 

"I'm no good for you, Mike."

 

Michael frowned, confused. "Why do you keep saying that?"

 

Michael shifted closer, his body now pressed up along Damien's side, unknowingly threatening to overwhelm Damien, to finally break him. He forced out the gruff words.

 

"Because there's too much darkness in me."

 

Michael gave a tiny shake of his head, tipping it down. "I'm not the boy scout you think I am," he breathed, and then his lips pressed softly against Damien's.

 

That first touch, that first taste of Michael rolled through Damien like a wave—his heart stuttering in his chest, his stomach somersaulting, warmth spreading through his veins. He felt himself shake, felt an answering tremor in Michael's body.

 

Michael's mouth opened under his and Damien fell into the kiss, giving in to what he'd been fighting so hard against for so long.

 

Damien wound an arm around Michael's waist as his partner's hand rose to curl around the side of his neck. He flexed his fingers, wanting Michael closer as Michael's thumb gently rubbed against the underside of his jaw. The kiss deepened, the intimacy of this first time settling low in Damien's belly as he felt the world around them fall away. His head spun, trying to process the sensations, the emotions coursing through him until he couldn't breathe.

 

Michael made a soft sound, reverberating through Damien. He eased back from the kiss then, his breathing unsteady. Michael's eyes drifted open, shining in the firelight. He tipped his forehead against Damien's, pulling in an uneven breath himself. They rested like that for several long heartbeats, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

 

"Mike…" Damien whispered roughly.

 

Michael raised his head and let his hand slip slowly from Damien's neck. He looked as shaken as Damien felt.

 

"I don't…" Damien started, swallowed, tried again. "I don't know how to do this, Mike…"

 

Michael's gaze softened. "I don't have the best track record when it comes to relationships, either." He tilted his head. "What do you say we figure this out together? Take it slow?"

 

Damien nodded. "I want this. I don't want to fuck it up."

 

"We'll get to the fucking later," Michael breathed, just before he captured Damien's mouth once again.

 

The second kiss was better, deeper than the first. Now that Damien had had a taste of Michael, he wanted more. His heart rate increased as their tongues did slow, sensuous battle with one another. He felt another tremor race through him as his body began to respond, heat pooling in his groin. He shifted his hand on Michael's waist, slipping it up under Michael's light grey t-shirt. He couldn't stop his soft moan as his fingertips brushed against Michael's warm skin.

 

His partner pulled back then, breaking their contact and Damien blinked, confused. A sly grin crossed Michael's face as he stood.

 

"Goodnight, Scott."

 

And with a wink, Michael walked off toward their tent, leaving Damien to gape after him, before dropping his head and chuckling.

 

Slow it was, then.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They kissed their way through Washington.

 

Their rest stops became more frequent, under the pretense of needing a bathroom break, ending with them pressed up against a tree or the brick wall of the back of the restroom building. Sometimes it was hard and fast, their mouths slanting across one another's. Sometimes it was long and slow, their hands wandering up and down their fully clothed bodies, their mouths meeting again and again.

 

Damien felt like he was sixteen-years-old once more, constantly horny and making out under the bleachers at school every chance he got.

 

He had kissed too many people to count since his teenage years, but no one compared to Michael. He felt like an addict who needed a fix every few hours. And he loved it. It shocked him to find that he liked taking it slow, the build-up, not rushing to the finish line.

 

Because he knew without a doubt the wait would be worth it.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

In Oregon, they did more than kiss

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Not far across the Oregon border they stopped for the day. Having spent the last two nights in a motel, they decided to rough it. No official campgrounds were anywhere in their vicinity, so Damien consulted the GPS and satellite maps on his phone and found a small river cutting through the woods not far from them that looked promising.

 

It took a bit of off-roading, but a few miles later they came upon the small river, secluded among the tall trees, the late afternoon sunlight sparkling on the surface. The only sounds were the bubbling of the water and cheerful bird calls.

 

Michael nodded in approval and they began looking for a spot to pitch their tent. The area around the river was too rocky, but they discovered a small clearing not far away that would be perfect. Working together, they had their tent up in short order. Damien smiled as he rolled out both of their sleeping bags. Despite how heated their make-out sessions were becoming, they continued to take it slow and practice enough self-restraint to sleep in separate beds. But the anticipation of finally being naked with Michael continued to grow on a daily basis, serving to heighten the experience each time they kissed.

 

While Michael went off to gather kindling for their fire, Damien collected rocks and built a circle for their fire pit. It was warm out, and Damien's navy blue t-shirt was sticking to his skin by the time he finished his task. He wiped a hand across his forehead as he stood and made his way over to their bikes.

 

He grinned once again as he walked past the front of his, spying the small, brown plastic triceratops dinosaur attached between the handlebars. He discovered it the morning after the first night they camped. Michael had apparently snuck off to the vendor cart at the park when he said he was going to the bathroom and purchased it. Then when he excused himself at the campground, he had attached it to Damien's bike for him to find in the morning. Damien had been taken aback at the gesture. Michael had truly listened to his story. And cared. It was something so small, just a toy, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for him. Michael had said nothing when he saw Damien staring at the dinosaur, simply gave him a warm smile and a squeeze on his shoulder. Damien, too, said nothing, letting his long, slow kiss speak his thanks.

 

Damien retrieved both of their empty canteens, water purifying tablets, matches, their cooking gear, instant coffee, tea bags and two of the several MREs that Michael discovered Charlie had also packed for them. Looked like tonight's dinner would be chili for himself and spaghetti for his partner.

 

He had just set everything down off to the side of the fire pit when Michael emerged from the trees, carrying an armload of kindling and looking just as sweaty as Damien. He dropped the wood next to Damien and wiped his forehead across the sleeve of his dark green t-shirt.

 

"I thought I'd run down to the river, get cleaned up a bit," Michael said to him.

 

"Yeah, sure thing," Damien replied. "I'll get the fire going and when you get back I'll wash up." He bent over the pile of wood then pointed off to his right as Michael moved out of his field of vision. "Hey, can you take the canteens with you and fill them up?" he called out.

 

"Copy that," Michael answered from behind him.

 

As Damien arranged the kindling in the pit he heard Michael rustling through his duffel bag, most likely looking for one of the two towels they'd "borrowed" from the last motel they stayed in, then the sounds of his partner moving off into the woods in the direction of the river.

 

Satisfied with the arrangement of the wood several minutes later, Damien turned to reach for the matches and saw both canteens still sitting on the ground. He shook his head. "Nice job, Michael."

 

He considered waiting until it was his turn at the river to fill them up, but he wanted to give the purifying tablets enough time to work. So he grabbed them both, pushed himself to his feet and set off toward the water and his forgetful partner.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Without realizing he was even doing it, his skills as a soldier ingrained in him, it was second nature that Damien moved quietly through the woods, coming upon the river without Michael hearing his approach. He was about to step out of the tree line and call out to his partner when the sight before him brought him up short.

 

Michael was standing knee-deep in the water, completely naked.

 

Damien's mouth went dry and he took a step backwards and to the side, concealing most of his body behind a large tree, the canteens dropping silently to the ground beside him. He knew he should leave, give his partner some privacy, but he couldn't look away.

 

He watched as Michael bent down to scoop some of the clear water into his cupped hands, then splashed it over his hair and face, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, his wet hands then trailing down his bare chest. He stood there for a moment in the sunshine before splashing more water over his arms and legs, washing away the sweat and dirt. Another double handful of water flowed over his muscular chest, his naked body now covered in droplets that glinted in the sun.

 

Michael's hands once again trailed down his chest and stomach, but this time they drifted lower, one curling around his soft, uncut cock, the other cupping his full and heavy balls in their sac. He looked down, giving a long, slow pull on his cock, tugging gently on his sac at the same time.

 

Damien could just hear Michael's low groan as his partner stroked himself again, his cock beginning to lengthen in his palm. The sound hit Damien low in his gut and his own cock throbbed in response.

 

"Fuck…" Damien breathed.

 

Michael suddenly looked up, and for a split second Damien thought he'd given himself away and his partner could see him spying. But no, Michael just took a few steps closer to the bank of the river, where a tall, wide boulder jutted up. He leaned back against the warm stone, reclining on its slope, bending one leg at the knee, propping his foot up. He closed his eyes as his hand once again drifted down between his legs and curled around his semi-hard cock, stroking himself faster now.

 

Damien was transfixed, rooted to the spot, watching Michael masturbate in erotic fascination, one of his fantasies come to life before him. Arousal flooded through him, pooling in his groin, his cock trying to fill, trapped within the confines of his briefs and cargo pants. He pulled at the offending material, popping the button on his pants and lowering the zipper to dart his right hand down inside. He shoved his briefs and pants down with his left hand just enough to release his cock. He bit his lip as he took himself in hand, not taking his eyes off of Michael, at the sexy tableau before him.

 

His cock lengthened as Michael's did, matching his partner stroke for stroke. Damien felt himself release a thick burst of precome, the head of his cock now swollen and wet. Michael picked up the pace and Damien kept up, the sensation of his impending orgasm already curling in his belly. But he wouldn't come, not until Michael did.

 

His partner seemed to be hurtling toward the edge himself, shifting on the stone, spreading his legs wider. Michael raised his head to look down, watching himself stroke his cock, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He suddenly gasped and lay back, his neck arching, his eyes squeezing shut.

 

"Damien…" he groaned.

 

His arousal already at its peak, the sound of Michael calling out his name was Damien's undoing. His climax rushed through him at the same time as his partner's. He watched Michael come, his release splashing against his stomach and chest in long streams as Damien's own cock pulsed again and again, his release spattering down onto the leaves at his feet. The fingers of his left hand dug into the tree bark, the only thing holding himself up as he gasped with the intensity of his climax, his knees buckling. He pulled in several long breaths, watching Michael come down from his own orgasm. His partner relaxed back against the stone, breathing deep, his features relaxed, sated, gently massaging his softening cock and balls.

 

He stirred a minute later, sitting up, and it jolted Damien out of his stupor and into action. He quickly shoved his cock back into his pants and fumbled with the zipper. In his haste to retreat, he nearly stumbled over the canteens he had dropped and quickly snatched them up before making his way swiftly, but quietly, back through the woods to their campsite, still hearing the echo of Michael calling out his name.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Michael returned he was still bare-chested, the towel draped over his neck, which he then hung over a tree branch to dry. Damien averted his eyes, feeling his face heat up. At the time he could blame his actions on being too turned on to even think straight, but now he felt like the world's biggest Peeping Tom.

 

He busied himself with the fire, which he had started as soon as he returned, though it obviously should have been burning much more by now. He hoped his partner didn't notice.

 

"Hey," Michael said as he approached and squatted down next to Damien. "Your turn, mate. I'll get dinner going." He reached for one of the MREs, which was sitting next to the canteens. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry. I forgot to take these with me."

 

Damien cleared his throat, still picturing the way Michael looked and sounded when he came, feeling his face flush again. He snatched up the canteens and scrambled to his feet, not looking at his partner.

 

"Don't worry about it, buddy, I've got it," he said quickly and strode off into the trees, hoping the river water was ice cold.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien was back in control of himself when he returned to the campsite, refreshed from his own dip in the river, and he settled down next to Michael for dinner.

 

While they ate, they talked. About everything—favorite movies, books, music, travel—the topics kept flowing smoothly into the night, as well as the laughter. While Damien had known Michael for quite some time now, he didn't really _know_ Michael. Though no fault of his partner's. Idle chatter just didn't come easy when you were dodging bullets. Even without the change in their physical relationship, Damien felt closer to Michael now than he ever had. And he hoped the same was true for Michael as well. Because he could lower his walls around him. He could drop the bullshit, smart-ass, macho persona he projected to keep people at arm's length. He'd been betrayed too many times—by the country he'd sworn to protect, by an agency and a woman who twisted him into someone he no longer recognized—to trust easily anymore.

 

But Michael—he trusted with his very life.

 

This trip was supposed to have been for his partner, but Damien was discovering it was actually for them both.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was late when they finally crawled into their tent and stripped down to their underwear, the night still warm enough to sleep on top of their sleeping bags. Damien propped up the flashlight in the corner to reflect the light up on the top of the tent, illuminating the interior with a soft glow.

 

He was pleasantly tired and mellow from the bottle of whiskey he and Michael had been passing back and forth while the fire burned down to embers. As Michael settled onto his back next to him, Damien rolled onto his side and dipped his head down. Michael met him halfway for a long, slow kiss, the taste of whiskey on his tongue as well. Their arms wound around each other and Damien half covered Michael's body with his own, one leg over Michael's, their chests pressed together. The heat of Michael's nearly naked body soaked into his as Michael's hands roamed up and down the length of Damien's back. When one hand ghosted over the swell of his ass, Damien gave a soft groan and Michael rolled them over, reversing their positions, easing back from the kiss.

 

Michael gazed down at him, a question in his eyes. "Why didn't you want this?" he whispered. "Why did you say there's too much darkness in you?"

 

The corners of Damien's mouth tightened. "Because there is. And I don't want to drag you down into with me. Because you're a good person, Mike. And I'm not." He released a long breath. "The things I've done…"

 

Michael's gaze was steady, his words low. "What we do…this job…it breeds darkness. While I haven't experienced the same things you have, I'm not the same man I was when I entered the service."

 

Michael paused, rested a hand on Damien's chest. "We all carry darkness inside us. But that doesn't mean you have to be alone, that you can't let someone close, let someone help you with the burden." Michael leaned down, his eyes soft. "Let someone love you…" he breathed.

 

And with the touch of Michael's lips and the warmth of his embrace, Damien finally felt the light pierce the darkness inside him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The next afternoon, Damien watched the beautiful Oregon landscape go by as he and Michael traveled down the highway, in no rush to get where they were going. Damien knew their destination, but that didn't mean they couldn't take the scenic route getting there, just to enjoy the view. Being based in London now, Damien had nearly forgotten what vast, open spaces were like, surrounded by mountains and trees instead of an urban jungle.

 

Damien let his thoughts wander as they rode, the sun peeking in and out of clouds that were just beginning to roll in, typical of the pacific northwest weather.

 

He felt…lighter, after Michael's words last night. That some of the weight he had been carrying was beginning to lift, the more he opened up to his partner. He may never feel comfortable sharing all that he had done, but he felt confident that whatever he did tell Michael, he wouldn't judge Damien.

 

Their exit sign caught Damien's attention for a second and he led them toward the ramp, flicking a glance over at Michael. He had woken this morning with his partner pressed up along his back, kissing the side of his neck. He'd rolled over and tugged Michael on top of him, soaking in the heat and strength of Michael's body, his fingers skimming over smooth, bare skin as their mouths came together once again, unhurriedly. Michael had slowly rocked against him, giving short rolls to his hips, rubbing their cloth covered cocks together.

 

Damien smiled to himself at the memory, heat pooling in his groin as it had done a few hours ago as he came down the exit ramp and made a left turn at the stop sign. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had kissed someone where it didn't lead to fucking five minutes later. This slow boil he and Michael were creating…he liked it more and more.

 

The sharp, short blast of a police siren behind him pulled Damien abruptly from his thoughts and he and Michael both turned to look at the same time. Sure enough, they were being pulled over. Michael shook his head at him in annoyance as they came to a stop.

 

"What?" Damien threw his arms out to the side. "I just pulled away from the damn stop sign! I wasn't speeding!"

 

Michael pointed at him. "It's that bloody shirt! I know it! It's so offensive you're being arrested for it!"

 

Damien looked down at his bright yellow Hawaiian shirt with the black motorcycles and red palm trees and couldn't help but burst out laughing, Michael following suit.

 

His partner's humor helping to defuse the situation before Damien could get pissed off, he simply stood there and nodded as the cop rambled on about them rolling through the stop sign, not using turn signals and not wearing helmets. He was more amused than anything at this point, realizing he and Michael hadn't been able to get through one state yet without getting some sort of moving violation. If they could keep this up it would be some sort of record for him.

 

He accepted the ticket with a smile, appropriately polite but yet not sincere, waited until the officer pulled away, and for the third time, crumpled up the pink piece of paper and tossed it over his shoulder. He idly wondered why Michael kept putting his in his wallet. Tucking them away for safe keeping until he got home and wrote checks for each and every fine? Damien chuckled at the thought as they remounted their bikes.

 

"You neglected to say that interacting with law enforcement was part of this road trip," Michael said with a shake of his head.

 

Damien reached over and smacked Michael on his arm. "Never say I didn't give you the full experience!"

 

"Let’s just not experience _jail_ , eh?"

 

Damien smirked back at his partner in response, then pointed down the street. "Since we're already stopped, why don't we grab some food?"

 

Michael agreed, and ten minutes later they each had a large soda and a white paper bag with two hot dogs and fries. Damien suggested they take their lunch across the road to a park with a pavilion, under which sat two picnic tables. Five minutes after that they were sitting across from one another, tucking into their food. The park was nearly empty in the middle of the day on a Tuesday, just two dog walkers in sight. They enjoyed the peace and quiet as they ate, a welcome change from the road noise of the highway.

 

Having practically inhaled his hot dogs, another classic American food checked off his list, Damien stood and stretched, trying to work out the kinks of being hunched over handlebars, just as the rain started. Not a downpour, just a gentle summer shower. Damien wandered over to the edge of the pavilion and leaned against one of the wide columns, the stone smooth and cool against his back. He closed his eyes and drew in the fresh, clean scent of the rain and the grass.

 

He sensed Michael approaching and stopping in front of him, but he didn’t open his eyes until Michael curled a hand around the side of his neck. Michael's gaze was content, a hint of a smile on his face as he leaned in and closed the small distance between them. Damien's eyes drifted shut once again as he opened his mouth under Michael's. He could taste the sweetness of the orange soda on Michael's tongue his partner had been drinking as they kissed slow and languid, the rain falling gently around them.

 

Damien's hands settled on Michael's waist, slipping up under the hem of his light grey t-shirt, his thumbs just brushing Michael's warm skin over the waistband of his jeans. He spread his legs and drew Michael closer, fitting their bodies together. Michael hummed into the kiss and rocked against Damien as he had that morning, a slow rolling of his hips. Damien's fingers flexed against Michael's waist as their groins rubbed together, his cock stirring at the stimulation.

 

Michael pressed a little harder against him, deepening the kiss as well and Damien made a soft sound, feeling the warm mist of the rain on his skin. He shifted his hands, sliding them across and down the swell of Michael's ass, pressing Michael firmly against him, encouraging his partner's movements. Michael responded, rocking his hips more insistently, the growing evidence of his arousal sliding against Damien's own.

 

Damien slanted his mouth across Michael's, gripping his partner's ass tighter, his cock swelling inside its confines at the repeated stimulation. Damien's mind conjured up an image of Michael actually pushing inside him and he broke the kiss with a gasp, his eyes opening.

 

"Jesus Christ…" he breathed.

 

Michael's rhythm never faltered, still rocking against Damien, his mouth now kissing wetly along the side of Damien's neck. Damien squeezed his eyes closed as his cock released a burst of precome, minutes away from coming in his pants like a teenager and not caring one damn bit.

 

The sudden barking of a dog a few feet away startled them both and Michael took a stutter step back, his unfocused hazel eyes a distinct giveaway that he was just as far gone as Damien had been.

 

The dog barked again and both he and Michael turned their heads toward the sound to see an older woman with an umbrella walking her yapping poodle, staring at them both disapprovingly. Damien winked and laughed, but Michael cleared his throat and wiped a hand across his mouth, ducking his head self-consciously, taking another step back. The woman _harrumphed_ at them both, turned her head sharply away and strode past as quickly as her short legs would carry her. All of which made Damien laugh even more.

 

Michael moved swiftly back to the picnic table and began snatching up their garbage. He cleared his throat again, not looking at Damien. "We should…we should get going."

 

Damien crossed his arms over his chest and grinned widely at his partner's discomfort. "Why, Michael, I don't believe I've ever seen your face quite that shade of red before."

 

Michael shot him a sideways glare. "Oh, sod off, you tosser."

 

Damien was still laughing five miles down the road.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It wasn't far to their destination, Damien leading them down a long, winding drive that ran parallel to a large lake. He pulled his bike to a stop in front of a long, three-story red brick building with white columns and wrought iron work along the balconies. It was an impressive, old structure that sat on a vast plot of land.

 

Michael looked at him curiously as he parked next to Damien. "I thought you were taking me to another fascinating roadside attraction."

 

Damien opened his arms out, indicating the building in front of them. "I have. Welcome to the Hot Lake Hotel."

 

Michael nodded toward the lake. "Is there some sort of giant sea creature out there I'm supposed to get my photo with?"

 

Damien chuckled. "Possibly, but I doubt it. And that's actually a natural hot spring. No, I brought you here because this was built back in the late 1800's and ended up being an insane asylum for a period of time." He leaned toward his partner and waggled his eyebrows. "It's haunted. So haunted, in fact, that it's even been featured on some TV show."

 

Michael cocked his head, studying the hotel. "A haunted insane asylum, eh?" He looked back to Damien, amused. "Well, considering what we do for a living, mate, we _are_ certifiable."

 

Damien smiled. "Then let's go check in to our padded cells!"

 

The inside of the hotel was just as impressive as the outside, the décor in keeping with the older time period, though Damien could tell it had been completely renovated. They approached the front desk just as an older man with a full head of silver-white hair appeared from around the corner.

 

A wide smile lit up his face. "Welcome to the Hot Lake Hotel," he greeted them. "I'm David, the owner. Do you have a reservation?"

 

"Actually, no, we don't," Damien answered. "But we were hoping you had a room with a private bath available."

 

"I believe we do, sir, let me check," David replied and consulted his computer for a minute before looking back up at Damien. "We do have a suite available. It has a single king bed. Will that be acceptable…?" he trailed off.

 

Damien hesitated. He hadn't considered that. He and Michael were still sleeping apart—

 

"That will be fine," Michael spoke up.

 

Damien turned his head toward his partner at the implication and Michael gave him a small nod, a bit of heat in his eyes. Damien's pulse gave a short spike at the thought of the impending change in their relationship that night, something he hadn't been expecting. He wondered if 2:15 pm was too early to call it a night.

 

"Very well, gentlemen," David smiled. "How long will you be staying with us?"

 

"Um, just the one night," Damien replied, pulling his thoughts back to the present and his gaze away from his partner.

 

"I'll just need a credit card and ID," David said.

 

Damien handed everything over and received a key card in return.

 

"Room 312," David told them. "It has a balcony and a beautiful view of the lake. I'm afraid we don’t have any elevators, but the stairs are at the far end of the hallway." He pointed to their left. "Please take time to walk the grounds. We have a history center with military and Native American artifacts and an artist marketplace with a bronze sculpture workshop and gallery. Plus antique fire trucks and an 1800's style chapel." He pointed to their right. "We have an Italian restaurant on site for lunch and dinner and a full breakfast is included tomorrow morning. And of course you have your own private hot spring bath in your suite. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Enjoy your stay!"

 

"Is it true the hotel is haunted by former inmates of the asylum?" Michael asked with a grin.

 

David chuckled a bit nervously. "Well, I've never seen anything personally. I'm sure you have nothing to be concerned about. Figments of guests imagination and all that…"

 

"Oh, no worries," Michael smiled, clapping a hand on Damien's shoulder. "My partner will fit right in with the lunatics. Cheers!" He raised his hand as he turned to walk away, leaving Damien to give his middle finger to his partner's back.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Their suite was simple but spacious with the large king bed, a small sofa and chair, coffee table, a fireplace, and a good sized bathroom. Tall windows looked out onto the lake, a beautiful view, especially when laying in the bed. Double glass doors opened out onto the balcony, where there were two chairs and a small, square table. But the highlight of the room, and what the hotel was known for, was the hot spring bath, the water piped in directly from the lake. The large, rectangular bath with wooden sides was situated near the fireplace and with a view out the balcony doors. Damien could see steam rising from the surface, the water a near constant temperature around 105° F.

 

While the "haunted" part was just to mess with Michael, the hot spring was the actual reason Damien had chosen this hotel. He figured that after a few hundred miles on their bikes, they could use a good soak. He could already feel his aching muscles eager for a dip in the mineral-rich water.

 

They dropped their duffels on the low bench at the end of the bed and Michael went into the bathroom while Damien opened the double glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The weather had cleared and now the sky was bright blue, interspersed with fluffy white clouds, the sun sparkling on the lake.

 

Damien rested his hands on the railing and took a deep breath, a sense of peace settling over him. He felt…centered for the first time in a long time. And he knew it was because of the man now standing at his side. He was still afraid of screwing things up with Michael, but he also knew this relationship was worth fighting for. For as long as they had it. The danger in their lives was very real and he could lose Michael five minutes into their next mission.

 

He turned and drew his partner to him, trying to erase the thought. Michael was here, vibrant and alive. As he kissed Michael long and slow, Damien vowed that he would do everything in his power to make sure he remained that way. He would gladly give his life if it meant keeping Michael safe.

 

They eased back from the kiss several moments later, their arms still around one another. Michael looked pointedly back into the room, at the bed. "I hope I didn't overstep…"

 

Damien smirked at him. "We can step over there right now if you want…"

 

"We should at least explore the rest of this roadside attraction. There must be something here you want to take my picture in front of. A ghost, perhaps?"

 

Damien gave an exaggerated sigh. Looked like the bed would have to wait. Who knew Michael was really going to get into this whole tourist thing. "Okay, Mikey. Let's go find Casper for you."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

A few hours later, Damien had to admit he was actually enjoying himself. The display of military artifacts, not surprisingly, was his favorite. And Michael's, too. But the artist's marketplace was impressive. Especially the bronze work. There were massive bronze sculptures throughout the grounds, which they discovered were all made by David, the owner of the hotel. In keeping with the apparent "giant" theme of their road trip, Damien made sure to snap several pictures of Michael in front of a few of them. He sent them to Julia and Baxter, hoping to hear back from either of them, letting him know they were both safe.

 

They walked down past the lake to see the steam rising from its surface, then over to the outdoor baths. The hotel was quite busy, with both couples and families, and the baths were the most popular spots.

 

They decided to have dinner at the Italian restaurant where Damien had a slice of lasagna that was as big as his head and Michael had a plate of spaghetti and meatballs that was just as big. After a few glasses of wine and tiramisu for dessert, they were both pleasantly full and relaxed. They wandered out onto the main patio area to sit side by side in companionable silence and watch the beginning of the sunset, Damien enjoying a cigarette while the sky started to change colors.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Damien saw Michael look over at him and he turned to his partner. He instantly knew Michael was ready to go back to their room by the look in his eyes and Damien felt a curl of desire form in his belly. Without a word they both stood and made their way back into the hotel, heading up to the third floor.

 

Michael stripped off his t-shirt as Damien closed the door behind them. He kept the lights off, the brilliant colors of the sunset bathing the room in shades of pinks and yellows through the open balcony doors. Damien unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt and tossed it toward the bed, the summer breeze warm against his bare skin.

 

In front of him, Michael kicked out of his boots and socks then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them, and his briefs, down his legs and off. He stood gloriously naked before Damien, the well-defined planes of his muscular body cast in highlight and shadow. And Damien drank his fill.

 

When he had originally planned this trip, he had no idea that his relationship with Michael would change so drastically. And was still continuing to change. What he thought would be a relaxing soak with his buddy was now so much more.

 

As Damien toed out of his boots, Michael advanced upon him like a tiger stalking its prey. He stopped before Damien, heat in his gaze, and ran his hands up Damien's chest. His fingers ghosted through the soft, dark hair, his thumbs brushing across his nipples, raising gooseflesh on Damien's arms. Michael's hands trailed down again, stopping at the waistband of Damien's cargo pants. Michael's deft fingers popped the button and slid the zipper slowly down. He hooked his thumbs around the edges of both the pants and Damien's briefs and slid them slowly over and down Damien's hips, the material pooling at Damien's feet. It was Michael's turn to look his fill, his piercing hazel eyes lingering over Damien's naked body, Damien's cock already beginning to stir, his body warming with anticipation.

 

They reached for one another at the same time and Damien groaned into the kiss at this first, most intimate contact between them. Michael's arms held him close, the heat of his partner's body surrounding him, centered at his groin. He could feel Michael's growing cock pressed against his own and he gripped Michael's ass, trying to get him closer still. It was Michael's turn to groan and he slanted his mouth across Damien's, flexing his fingers against Damien's bare skin before pulling back, breaking the kiss. There was a glint in his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he stepped away from Damien and over to the bath.

 

"You bastard," Damien huffed with a grin at his partner for leaving him hanging, standing there with his pants down around his ankles, still wearing his socks.

 

Michael chuckled as he swung his legs over the side of the bath and into the water. "Coming?"

 

 _I would have been,_ Damien thought as he kicked away his pants and pulled off his socks.

 

Michael sank down into the hot water up to his neck with a drawn out sigh as Damien stepped into the bath beside him. Damien echoed his partner's sentiment a moment later as he submerged himself as well. As the hot water enveloped him, Damien felt the hundreds of miles of road-weariness begin to dissipate, his muscles relaxing. Michael sat down completely, ducking his head under the water for a good ten seconds. He rose up onto his knees when he emerged, his chest above the water. He ran his hands over his face, then back through his short hair as the water sluiced down his smooth chest.

 

A vivid image of Michael looking exactly like that in the river flashed in Damien's mind and he spoke without thinking, his arousal spiking as it had done that afternoon.

 

"I saw you in the river…" he breathed, moving closer to Michael. "I got off, watching you," he confessed, voice dropping even lower. "I wanted to…" he trailed off, swallowing hard.

 

"What?" Michael whispered, moving even closer, nearly touching Damien, his eyes gone dark. "What did you want to do?"

 

Damien cupped his hand around the side of Michael's neck. "This…" he closed the small distance between them, capturing his partner's mouth as his other hand slid beneath the water, reaching out to curl around Michael's cock.

 

Michael bucked up against him with a moan as Damien took him in hand and began stroking. The feel of Michael's erection so hot and heavy against his palm was heady, touching him so intimately for the first time. He eased the foreskin back and down over the swollen head with steady strokes, feeling Michael's cock growing, hardening.

 

Michael moaned again, deepening the kiss, laying a hand on the side of Damien's face, thumb rubbing against the stubble on his jaw. Then it was Damien's turn to groan as Michael's other hand moved through the water and wrapped firmly around his cock.

 

Damien kissed Michael harder, his body on fire, his head spinning, trying to process that Michael was touching him. He could already feel his orgasm curling at the base of his spine, too aroused for this to last.

 

He broke the kiss with a gasp, drawing in a shuddering breath as Michael stroked him faster. His hand still rested on Michael's neck, keeping them connected, as Michael's remained against his jaw. Damien tipped his head back just enough to capture Michael's gaze. He wanted to watch him come undone.

 

The only sound in the room was their breathing and the quiet lapping of the water moving around them, like silk caressing their skin, the mists of steam enveloping them, heightening the sensuous experience.

 

Damien watched the expressions of pleasure, arousal and desire cross Michael's face as Damien matched the pace of his strokes, driving his partner closer to the edge. And there, the hitch in Michael's breathing, the slight falter in his rhythm. He was so close…

 

Michael's entire body shook, his eyes closing, his head dropping back, mouth falling open…

 

"Damien…"

 

Damien felt a shudder run through him, Michael saying his name just like that afternoon. Just before he came…

 

Michael's cock surged in Damien's palm, just as Damien's release flooded through him at the same time, his own cock pulsing in Michael's grip.

 

"Mike…" he ground out, eyes squeezing shut as he came, long and hard.

 

They sagged against one another as their climax rolled through them, heads buried in each other's shoulders for long minutes until they were spent. They held one another close, kissing softly through the gentle tremors. No words were spoken as they embraced in the water, watching until the sun sank fully below the horizon, content and at peace.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien stretched out on the bed as Michael settled against him, draping the sheet loosely over their naked bodies, the glow of the small bedside lamp bathing them in soft light. Michael's hair was damp, the drops cool against Damien's still warm skin. He lay a hand on Michael's chest, his fingers brushing aimlessly across the smooth skin. Damien's body felt heavy, sated. It had been worth it, the slow build up to lying here like this with Michael. Because it hadn't been some quick, down and dirty hand job as nothing more than a prelude to fucking. It had _meant_ something. More than Damien realized it could. Further proof that what he was building here with Michael was real. And worth not fucking up, but fighting for instead.

 

Damien was pulled from his musings by Michael's hand on his wrist. His partner tugged on the paracord bracelet Damien wore.

 

"I've never seen you take this off," Michael said.

 

Damien looked down at the symbol of his previous military career. "That's because I don't. I got it the day I got my Delta call sign."

 

Michael looked at him, a question in his eyes. Damien had promised to tell him the story one day, but he knew his partner wouldn't ask. He'd wait until Damien was ready.

 

Damien took a breath, memories of that fateful day washing over him once again. He rubbed his thumb over the bracelet.

 

"I nearly died that day," he began. "I _should_ have died that day."

 

"What happened?" Michael asked, brows drawing together.

 

"You don't pick your call sign," Damien explained. "Your team gives it to you based on something you do. You have to earn it. Along with the bracelet." Damien glanced up toward the ceiling. "All I'd ever wanted was to get accepted into Delta, but I didn't exactly get a warm welcome. I was the new guy, the outsider, trying to insert myself into a well-oiled team. I didn't fit in. I hadn't found my place yet. But I was determined to prove I deserved to be there."

 

He looked back down to Michael. "I'd only been with Delta two weeks. I was on my first deployment with the unit, in Pakistan. The second day I was there I was driving a civilian pick-up truck full of supplies into some village." He paused. "I hit an IED."

 

"Shit," Michael muttered.

 

Damien nodded, looking back down at Michael. "The rear wheel went right over it. The truck spun out of control and I crashed into the village's propane tank." Michael's eyes widened and he looked at Damien like he couldn't believe he was lying here next to him.

 

Hell, Damien couldn't believe he was lying here right now, either. He could still hear and feel the explosion in his mind. How his world turned into fire and breaking glass and tearing metal.

 

"It should have killed me," Damien continued. "But somehow the explosion blew me clear out of the truck as it rolled over before the whole thing went up in a fireball. I walked away with hardly a scratch."

 

Michael nodded, understanding. "And that's why your mates gave you your call sign."

 

"Yep. I was Crash from then on." A smile crossed Damien's face. "Charlie gave me my bracelet that night. Proof that I was a true Delta operator. I had literally survived my trial by fire. I remember the rest of the guys clapping, smacking me on the shoulder. I felt like I was finally part of something. That I belonged." He looked down at his wrist, voice quiet. "Despite what ended up going down, it's a reminder that those were the best years of my life and I'm proud of what I accomplished."

 

Michael's eyes held a hint of sadness. "I'm sorry all of that was taken away from you."

 

Damien felt something release inside his chest as he looked at Michael, finally letting go of his past, his future now right in front of him. He tugged Michael closer. "I'm not," he murmured. "Not anymore."

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

In Idaho, they did more than touch

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was mid-afternoon as Damien sped down the highway, Michael just behind him and to his right. Damien grinned to himself. They'd gotten a late start today, but he didn't care.

 

He and Michael had lain in bed, in no hurry to disentangle themselves from one another, Damien too relaxed to move. He hadn't slept that soundly in forever. Hell, he hadn't slept curled around someone like that in forever. His usual hook-ups always left before he fell asleep. Or vise versa. It was a nice change to wake up surrounded by Michael's warmth.

 

After finally rolling out of bed they took advantage of the bath one more time, getting in a last soak and…taking matters in hand once more.

 

Damien felt a tingle of warmth in his groin and he shifted on his seat, remembering the feel of Michael stroking him to completion as he did the same for his partner, watching as Michael fell apart before him for the second time. He would never get enough of that sight.

 

They watched the morning sun rise higher in the sky, kissing lazily, before finally drying off and getting dressed. They packed their bags then took advantage of the complimentary breakfast where Damien stuffed himself on pancakes, eggs and bacon. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

 

They checked out shortly after and when David asked if they enjoyed their stay, Damien could barely contain his laughter as a tinge of pink crossed Michael's face.

 

Now here they were, cruising through northern Idaho. Their destination was only about four hours from the Hot Lake Hotel, but Damien was once again taking them on the scenic route, planning a short stop along the way. He wanted to take advantage of the landscape, which wasn't much different from Oregon and Washington, with rolling hills and wide, green valleys. He was itching for some physical activity, unused to so much downtime, and he was sure Michael felt the same.

 

So an hour later, Damien led them into Winchester Lake State Park and stopped his bike at the head of several trails. He looked over at Michael as his partner pulled up beside him.

 

"Up for a hike, buddy? Get the blood pumping?"

 

Michael smiled as he looked around at the tall trees. "Yeah. Brilliant."

 

They grabbed their backpacks with water and trail mix and Damien may have added the half bottle of whiskey to his before walking over and consulting the park map. His objective a workout, he chose the steepest of the three trails, which would end with a panoramic view of the lake at the top. He turned back to Michael as his partner removed his light outer shirt, leaving him wearing just his tight, white tank top, over which he threw on his backpack and adjusted the straps.

 

Michael gestured toward the three trails. "Lead on, mate!"

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Forty-five minutes later Damien was breathing hard, his blood definitely pumping, a pleasant ache in his legs at the brisk pace he had set. He felt good, energized, and one look at the smile on Michael's face told him his partner did as well.

 

It was a gorgeous hike up through the trees, the summer sunlight filtering down through the green leaves, birds calling out overhead. They passed only a few fellow hikers who were on their way down. Damien enjoyed the peacefulness of the woods. It was a welcome change to not be running through them with someone shooting at him.

 

They reached the apex of the summit twenty minutes later, finding themselves alone overlooking the sweeping view of Winchester Lake below them. Damien put his hands on his hips and took long, deep breaths. Michael came to a stop beside him, his chest also rising and falling heavily, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his face and the muscles of his arms.

 

Michael nodded at him, grinning widely. "That felt good," he said, taking off his backpack and sitting down on the ground in front of one of the large boulders.

 

He dug in his bag and pulled out a bottle of water as Damien removed his own pack and sat down in front of the rock beside him. They both drank nearly an entire bottle each before relaxing back against the warm stones.

 

Comfortable silence fell over them as they simply gazed out over the lake for long minutes, enjoying the solitude. Damien glanced over to Michael, intending to ask him if he wanted a shot of the whiskey, but changed his mind at the expression on his partner's face.

 

Michael looked…lost and uncertain, his smile gone. It brought Damien up short, this sudden change in Michael's demeanor, and his brow furrowed.

 

"Mike? You okay?" he asked quietly.

 

Michael continued staring out over the lake, his voice subdued when he spoke. "Do you ever think about just walking away from it all?"

 

Damien blinked at the unexpected question as Michael gestured out in front of him before he turned to Damien.

 

"Looking at this, makes me realize that there are endless possibilities out there. That there's more in life than holding a gun."

 

Damien immediately thought of the dark, hard years he spent after leaving the CIA. How he ended up in Kuala Lumpur, nothing more than a man throwing fights for money. His jaw tightened. "Yeah. Tried that. Didn’t work out for me." He glanced down. "Being a soldier is all I know how to do." His voice softened as he looked back to his partner, concerned at where Michael was going with this train of thought. "Are you thinking of getting out, Mike?"

 

Michael abruptly looked away. His reaction left Damien on suddenly unsteady ground, trying to contemplate the possibility of Michael no longer at his side. He paused, thinking of what to say to give his partner some perspective.

 

"I know how hard things have been for you lately," Damien began, voice low and steady. "Why you're thinking like this. But don't let it overshadow the fact that you're damn good at what you do, Michael— _saving lives_." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You sure as hell saved mine."

 

Michael turned his head sharply at that, clearly affected by Damien's last words, at the deeper meaning.

 

Damien held his gaze for several heartbeats before continuing. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you out there with me. There's no one else I'd trust to watch my back." He took a breath. "But if your heart's truly not in it anymore…I'll understand."

 

Michael swallowed. "I'm not sure what I want."

 

Damien nodded. "That's why I brought you on this trip. So you could clear your head. Sounds like that's what you're doing. Just…talk to me, okay? You've been keeping too much inside for too long."

 

Michael went still for a long minute, not looking away from Damien, before he huffed out a breath and shook his head. "I hate it when you do this."

 

Damien tipped his head. "What's that?"

 

The corner of Michael's mouth twitched. "Talk like a grown-up."

 

Damien chuckled at the exact words he'd heard from Michael just a few weeks before, in a bombed-out, bullet-riddled building in Mogadishu. "Yeah, well, it happens sometimes," he replied just as he had done then. "Don't worry. It'll pass. I'll be acting like a five-year-old any second now." He picked up his nearly empty bottle of water and splashed Michael with the rest of the contents, pulling a laugh from his partner.

 

Michael wiped his face, grinning. "There's the Scott I know."

 

Damien smiled back, but deep down he worried he was losing Michael just as they'd truly found one another.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

A little more than half an hour after leaving the state park, Damien drove past the sign for Cottonwood, population 947. Marveling at how small the town was, he wasn't paying attention to his GPS and managed to miss the road they needed to take them to their destination. So at the next intersection he hung a U-turn, pointedly ignoring the sign that said NO U-TURN.

 

He and Michael hadn't gone but another block when once again there were flashing red and blue lights in his side mirror.

 

" _Seriously?_ " Damien muttered as he and Michael pulled over to the curb and the patrol car came to a stop behind them.

 

Michael pointed at him before he could even say a word. "Don't even _pretend_ to not know what you did."

 

"What?" Damien asked innocently.

 

Michael was looking at him with a combination of amusement and exasperation. "You know, Scott, if meeting law enforcement is another roadside attraction, you could have just taken me to the station house. You didn't have to have them chase us down in every state." He hooked his thumb at the approaching officer. "Shall I get my picture taken with this one?"

 

Damien burst out with a laugh, Michael's humor once again making light of the situation and diffusing Damien's temper before it could even rise. He sat back, still smiling, and let Michael take the lead with the small town cop, responding with overly polite "Yes, officer, I'm sorry." And "No, sir, it won't happen again." And "You have a great day, too," as he accepted ticket number four in state number four. Well, at least he and Michael were consistent law breakers!

 

And consistent litterbugs, as Damien chucked the crumpled up piece of pink paper over his shoulder as soon as the cop pulled away. Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes as he carefully tucked his ticket in the pocket of his jeans. Damien gave him a smart-ass grin in return, fired up his bike and pulled back out onto the street.

 

Less than ten minutes later, and on the outskirts of town, Damien turned off onto a dirt road, their destination literally looming large before them—The Dog Bark Inn—a thirty foot tall wooden beagle that was actually a one room bed and breakfast. Next to the giant dog was another, smaller beagle, this one about twelve feet tall, standing beside a ten foot tall bright red fire hydrant. Damien chuckled at the sight before him. Their website didn't do this crazy place justice.

 

Michael's expression as he came to a stop beside Damien was priceless and he wished he had his camera out to capture it.

 

"I'm seriously going to be sleeping in a _dog's ass_?"

 

Damien slapped Michael on his back. "Only the classiest places for you, buddy!" He hopped off his bike. "C'mon," he grinned, heading for the small office and gift shop.

 

As Damien pushed open the door, a tiny bell rang out above, signaling his arrival. He came to a stop a few feet in, Michael right behind him, looking around in awe.

 

"Whoa…" Damien breathed.

 

There were wooden dogs _everywhere_. Dozens of shelves of hand-carved pups of every breed imaginable and every size imaginable. Tables full of other dog-related gifts. Paintings of dogs hanging on the walls. A rack of doggie snacks next to a rack of doggie t-shirts.

 

"Welcome to the Dog Bark Inn!"

 

Damien blinked at the loud, cheerful voice, pulling his gaze from the canine wonderland he'd stepped into to the front desk, where a slightly built man with gray hair in his late-fifties was smiling at him from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

 

"How may I help you boys?"

 

Damien walked up to the desk. "Umm…we'd like to book your dog for the night," he said, and Michael chuckled behind him at the ridiculous sounding statement.

 

"Wonderful!" The man extended his hand. "I'm Dennis. My wife, Francis and I are the owners. We built Willy out there ourselves."

 

Damien shook Dennis's hand. "Damien," he introduced myself. "And this is my partner, Michael."

 

Michael raised his hand in greeting. "Willy is very impressive," he smiled.

 

"Why, thank you!" Dennis grinned. "He's the world's biggest beagle, you know."

 

The corners of Damien's mouth twitched as Dennis turned to his computer. A few minutes later Michael and Damien were booked and Dennis was handing them the key.

 

"The missus is fixin' up some light supper shortly," Dennis said. "Can we bring you boys out a couple of sandwiches and ice tea?"

 

Michael's smile was warm. "That would be lovely. Cheers."

 

Dennis nodded. "And of course we'll have a full breakfast for you in the morning. If you need anything, just give me a shout. Otherwise enjoy your stay in Willy!"

 

Damien had to stop himself from laughing, noting the amusement on Michael's face as well.

 

"I'm sure we will, Dennis," Damien grinned and then he and Michael stepped back outside.

 

"Did you type in the words 'giant' and 'United States' in the computer and that's how you planned this trip?" Michael asked humorously as he and Damien began unhooking their duffels from the back of their bikes.

 

"This one was all Richmond!" Damien laughed. "Speaking of which…" he unclipped his phone from the mount between the handlebars. He stepped back a few feet, making sure he got both Michael and the larger-than-life beagle in the frame. "Say 'Woof!', Mikey!" he cracked before snapping the picture.

 

He grinned as he sent it off to Julia, then sobered a bit when he realized she'd never responded after the last photo he sent. He hoped her silence didn't mean things weren't going well with the mission.

 

He shook off the thought as he pocketed his phone, instead choosing to believe she was just busy, grabbed his bag and led the way to Willy.

 

They climbed the two flights of wooden stairs that ended on a good sized deck with two lounge chairs and a small, round table between them. Damien unlocked the sliding glass door and stepped inside, laughing and shaking his head at the interior.

 

He was standing in one medium-sized room, all of the walls painted a shade of burnt orange that would be more at home in southwestern New Mexico than northern Idaho. The queen bed took up the majority of the space, which was going to be a tight fit for men of he and Michael's size. Then again, when he planned this trip he thought he'd be sleeping upstairs in the small loft area.

 

The headboard was decorated in more wooden dogs, the pillowcases had dogs on them as did the two rugs, and the shelves to the left of the bed were full of dog-related books and even a board game. Also to the left was the steep, short staircase to the loft. To the right of the bed was a counter with a microwave and a mini fridge below it. And to the right of that was the bathroom.

 

Michael stepped up beside him, his gaze taking in their accommodations as well, grinning as he looked around.

 

"Hope you've had your rabies shot, Mikey!" Damien quipped as he dropped his bag on the left side of the bed.

 

Michael dropped his bag on the right side. "And you a flea-dip?" he shot back.

 

Damien closed the small distance between them, a glint in his eye as he pressed his body against Michael's. "You may have to strip me down and check every inch of me."

 

"Oh, I will be sure to give you a _thorough_ examination," Michael smirked, sliding his hands up under Damien's shirt, his equally thorough kiss leaving no doubt in Damien's mind.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

An hour later Damien was relaxing on one of the outdoor lounge chairs, Michael next to him, the remains of their roast beef sandwiches and ice tea on the table between them. Francis had been as upbeat and cheerful as Dennis when she delivered their dinner. The petite brunette with the same wire-rimmed glasses as her husband presented them both with miniature versions of Willy as a complimentary gift, before wishing them a pleasant stay and letting them know that breakfast would be served at 8:00 am sharp the next morning.

 

Damien took a long drag on his cigarette and slowly exhaled a stream of white smoke into the air as he looked out around him. The terrain was flatter here, with smaller hills and wider green plains. With all of the wide open space he'd been surrounded with since this trip began, it was going to be hard to go back to the close confines of London.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael pick up one of the mini Willy's. "Did you ever have a dog as a kid?" he asked.

 

Damien took one last pull and stubbed out the cigarette butt. "Actually, yeah," he nodded, childhood memories rising to the surface. "We had a big, yellow lab when I was about nine. His name was Scooter. I loved that dog," Damien smiled. "We did everything together. Especially after my family started falling apart. He died right before I graduated high school. Another reason I was glad to get the hell out of there." He cleared his throat. "What about you?" he asked automatically, then cursed himself for his stupidity, forgetting that Michael had grown up in foster homes. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking…"

 

Michael waved him off. "No, it's okay. There was a dog at one of the homes I was in. A little Jack Russell terrier. Ollie," Michael grinned. "I was probably six, seven years-old. He didn't want much to do with the other kids but he took to me. We were inseparable for the year and a half I was there. The only real 'friend' I had." He looked away from Damien. "I remember crying for days when they took me away."

 

Damien frowned to himself. He couldn't imagine why no one had ever adopted Michael, especially when he was still a toddler. Then again, Damien had had parents and look how his life still turned out.

 

"Well, hey," Damien reached over and knocked his fist against Michael's arm. "Despite our crappy upbringings, I think we both turned out pretty damn good," he smirked.

 

Michael turned back to him, amusement in his eyes. "Oh, the jury's still out on you, mate."

 

"Fuck you," Damien laughed.

 

Michael said nothing, but the pointed, heated look he threw Damien full of invitation was enough to make Damien's pulse thrum, igniting the slow burn inside him once again.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

As the evening grew dark, they decided to hit up the only bar they'd seen on their way through town, the aptly named Main Street Saloon. Planning on a night of drinking, they chose to walk into town instead of driving their bikes, enjoying their stroll along the tree-lined road under a beautiful star-lit summer sky.

 

Damien chuckled and shook his head when they reached Main Street. Glancing around at all of the closed businesses it was apparent that Cottonwood rolled up the sidewalks early. The bar was the only establishment open, shining like a bright beacon, beckoning folks inside with the promise of an entertaining night in an otherwise sleepy town.

 

Not surprisingly, the bar was busy, as Damien passed by at least a dozen parked cars outside before pulling open the front door. He and Michael were immediately surrounded by music and a lively crowd. Damien looked around as he stepped further inside. The long bar against the far wall was lined with people sitting or standing shoulder to shoulder, talking, laughing and drinking, keeping the two female bartenders busy. Tables were scattered throughout, most of them full with couples or groups of friends. A juke box in the far right corner sang out with the appropriate country western tune, fitting with the saloon atmosphere. Off to the left were several dart boards, two of which were in use, and next to those a billiard table with a small crowd around it, watching the two players.

 

As Damien and Michael moved toward the bar it became obvious by the looks they were getting that the Main Street Saloon was very much a "locals" bar, and the two of them stood out. Apparently Cottonwood wasn't a big tourist spot, despite Willy the giant beagle.

 

They found a spot at the end of the bar and Damien leaned forward to get one of the bartender's attention, raising his hand. The tall blonde nodded and made her way down to them.

 

"What can I get you fellas?" she asked with a smile.

 

"Couple beers, and two shots of whiskey, thanks," Damien replied.

 

"Coming right up," she nodded and just a minute later she set the drinks down on the bar.

 

Damien and Michael both picked up the whiskey and raised their glasses.

 

"Cheers, mate," Michael grinned, touching his glass to Damien's.

 

Damien threw back his shot, enjoying the pleasant burn of the liquor as it made its way down his throat. He set the shot glass down with a _thunk_ and a grin and snatched up his beer bottle as Michael did the same. Damien took a swig then pointed his bottle to the left.

 

"Darts?"

 

Michael smiled. "Oh, you're on."

 

Damien chuckled and they made their way through the lively crowd to the unoccupied dart board. Damien snatched up the blue darts and handed Michael the red ones.

 

Damien swept one of his hands out in front of him. "Ladies first," he cracked.

 

Michael gave him the finger and nonchalantly tossed his first dart, coming within an eighth of an inch of hitting the bulls-eye. Damien's eyebrows rose.

 

"Oh, did I forget to mention I was pub champion?" Michael smirked.

 

"You bastard," Damien laughed.

 

And it was on from there.

 

Michael trounced Damien thoroughly in the first game, gloating humorously that even though Damien was highly skilled with a long gun, he was shit at hitting targets with a dart. Damien briefly thought about hitting Michael's ass with one, but refrained himself.

 

As they started on their second game, Damien determined to put his partner in his place and save face at the same time, Chrissy the waitress appeared at his side once again. The petite, fit brunette with the short denim skirt and skin tight black tank top that stretched over her ample breasts had come over soon after they started their first game to take their drink order. She had given Michael a cursory glance but homed in on Damien, not bothering to disguise her blatant interest in him each time she brought over their beers. He was also aware of the looks Michael was shooting Chrissy's way as she gave Damien those not-so-subtle hints.

 

Damien would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention the sexy as hell waitress was giving him. But he had no intention of following through with her offers. Until she "accidentally" stumbled against him, wrapping her arms around him to stop herself from falling. At the first touch of her breasts pressed up against his chest, Damien turned into Pavlov's dog, his instant, immediate thought was to take her into the back and fuck her senseless, his hand drifting over her ass.

 

But in the next split second it was Michael in his mind instead and he shook himself mentally, setting Chrissy a few steps back. Undeterred, she winked and walked away, glancing over her shoulder once, running a tongue over her red lipstick.

 

Damien ran a hand over his face and turned to Michael, cursing himself for his weakness at the first temptation he'd been presented with. He'd been afraid all along of fucking things up with Michael. He'd warned Michael he didn't know how to do a relationship. Hell, he didn't know what the word monogamy meant. And he nearly proved it to Michael right then and there.

 

"Go on. Have fun."

 

Michael's words were light, but his tone, and his smile, were forced, his body language rigid. His expression struggled to be one of understanding and acceptance and Damien knew why. After all, Michael had strayed from Kerry, so Damien had every right to stray from him.

 

Only Damien didn't want to. He wanted to fight against his own basic nature and fight _for_ this—what he and Michael were building together.

 

Michael glanced away from Damien, turning on his heel and striding off toward the bathrooms, near the back door of the bar.

 

" _Shit_ ," Damien cursed. "Mike! Mike, wait!" he called out, but his partner ignored him and shoved open the bathroom door.

 

Damien quickly followed, slipping through the door before it swung closed, noticing they were alone. He snagged Michael's arm, pulling him backwards and pinning him up against the door, his hands firmly on Michael's waist. Michael avoided his gaze, putting a hand on Damien's chest, trying to push him back.

 

But Damien didn't budge, struggling with what to say until Michael's words at another bar, in another state, about another girl suddenly came back to him and he echoed them.

 

"She's not what I'm looking for."

 

Michael went still, meeting Damien's gaze then, his hazel eyes widening, the meaning behind Damien's words not lost on him. "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

 

Damien answered him without words, closing the distance between them, making sure his swift, deep kiss left no doubt in Michael's mind. His partner froze for a split second before slanting his mouth across Damien's in response, clutching at Damien's ass, pressing their bodies fully together. Damien bucked his hips, groaning into the kiss, framing Michael's face with his hands. He felt Michael pulling at the button of his khaki cargo pants and hummed into the kiss, anticipating the feel of his partner's hand on his cock when someone suddenly banged into the door. Startled, they broke apart as the person started pounding.

 

"Hey, what the fuck, man?!"

 

Amused, they stepped aside, Damien wiping a hand across his mouth before throwing open the door. The clearly inebriated man stumbled inside, casting both he and Michael an irritated look, already unzipping his pants. Chuckling, Michael started to walk back out into the bar, but Damien stopped him with a hand on his chest.

 

"We're good." A statement, not a question.

 

Michael met his gaze steadily, a hint of a smile still on his face. He nodded slowly. "Copy that."

 

Damien released a breath and let his hand drop as Michael moved past him, vowing to himself that he would never have this conversation with his partner again.

 

They exited the bathroom and made their way through the crowded floor back to the bar where Michael ordered them two more shots of whiskey. As he downed the liquor, Damien could feel a nice buzz growing from the past hour of drinking. He started to say something to Michael when a shout from the corner drew their attention. It was the group over at the billiards table getting rowdier. Damien and Michael had been glancing over to them while they played darts, noticing that one of the players was clearly the local champion and no one was knocking him off his throne. He was also damn cocky about it, gloating and rubbing it in the other player's faces. His attitude grated on Damien. A slow smile spread across his face. He knew just what to do about it, too.

 

He reached out and slapped Michael on his back, nodding toward the billiards group. "Our funds are getting low, Mikey. Why don't you go over there and put your talents to use and relieve that jackass of most of his?"

 

A sly smile crossed Michael's face, clearly not a fan of how he was treating the other players, either. He set his shot glass down on the bar and held out his closed hand to Damien. They knocked fists and Damien laughed, giving his partner another tap on the back as Michael strode confidently over to the group.

 

"Go get 'em, buddy!"

 

Damien settled himself into his bar stool, getting comfortable. He grabbed the bowl of pretzels, ordered another beer and lit up a cigarette, preparing to enjoy the show.

 

It was just loud enough in the bar that Damien couldn't make out every word being said, but got the gist of what was going on. He watched as Michael walked directly up to the jackass, a man just about his partner's height but several pounds heavier. He sported several tattoos on his arms and had a shaved head. Damien nicknamed him Baldy.

 

Michael stuck out his hand to Baldy, as the bigger man gave his partner a _Who the fuck are you?_ look. The women in the group, however, looked Michael up and down like he was the dessert at an all-you-can-eat buffet, smiling and whispering to one another. Then their eyes went wide when Michael started speaking with that damn British accent.

 

Michael indicated to Baldy that he'd like to challenge him to a game, taking out his wallet. The men laughed and Baldy nodded. It was clear from his expression he thought Michael was ripe for the picking, being a tourist _and_ a foreigner.

 

 _Oh, this was going to be good_ , Damien thought as he leaned back against the bar, trying to keep the grin off his face.

 

But it slipped off of its own accord as Michael began to steadily lose the game. Damien fully expected his partner to pull it out, thinking he was just slowly reeling Baldy in before going in for the kill, drawing it out. But no, Michael lost handedly. Damien sat forward, frowning. "What the fuck…?" he muttered.

 

As expected, Baldy gloated, reaching to scoop up his winnings, but Michael stopped him with a hand on his arm.

 

His partner's next words were clear. "Double or nothing?"

 

Damien sat back and nearly burst out laughing. "You sly son-of-a-bitch," he said, realizing Michael's game plan all along.

 

And it worked spectacularly.

 

There was no way Baldy was going to back down from a challenge, especially now, with no doubt in his mind he was about to make more easy money. He had no idea how wrong he was.

 

Damien blew lazy smoke rings as he watched Michael wipe the floor with Baldy, clearing the table with the precision of a surgical tactical strike. It was clearly apparent that Baldy knew he'd been taken for a sucker and it wasn't going down well with him. The male onlookers were shocked at the audacity of this newcomer while the women on the other hand were more than impressed, now blatantly undressing Michael with their eyes.

 

It was over in a matter of minutes. Victorious, Michael was all "Good game, mate," slapping Baldy on his upper arm as he snatched up the pile of cash. But Baldy was having none of it, clamping a hand down on Michael's shoulder and spinning him around with an angry shout and threw the first punch.

 

"Shit!" Damien cursed.

 

He jumped off the bar stool just as Michael's close-quarters training instinctively kicked in and his partner dodged while landing a solid right hook to Baldy's jaw, snapping the man's head to the side.

 

It was on from there.

 

Damien was at Michael's side in an instant as the bar erupted, Baldy's friends converging on them both. They took on one challenger after another, fists swinging and making solid contact. The fight spread as innocent people were knocked into and retaliated in anger and annoyance until it was an all out brawl. Drinks were spilled, glasses broken and tables overturned. The bouncers waded into the fray, to little effect, as outnumbered as they were.

 

Damien couldn't keep the smile off his face as adrenaline flooded through him, every inch of him on fire as he fought, swept up in the rush of "battle mode" that had been missing from his life over the past couple of weeks. And by the answering expression on Michael's face, his partner was right there with him. They could do this all day.

 

But, having no doubt that one of the bartenders had called the police, as soon as both he and Michael had dropped their current opponent, Damien snagged Michael's arm.

 

"On me!" he shouted, and propelled them toward and out the back door, both of them laughing like idiots as they made their escape into the trees behind the bar.

 

Hopped up on an alcoholic buzz and the adrenaline rush from the fight, Damien let out a whoop as they ran, fist pumping up in the air.

 

"Now that's what I'm talk—" the rest of his sentence was lost as Michael suddenly grabbed two fistfuls of his dark blue t-shirt and slammed him back up against a tree, fusing his mouth to Damien's.

 

Damien went with the aggressive kiss, giving as good as he got, feeling the same buzz radiating off of his partner, desperate for an outlet. Their hands were all over one another, Damien's slipping up under Michael's tight tan t-shirt, fingers digging into warm, smooth skin and muscle while Michael's pulled hard once again at the button on Damien's pants. It finally released and Michael broke the frantic kiss as he tore at the zipper next. His face was flushed, breathing hard, his eyes wide and dark in the moonlight, radiating hunger and desire. He hooked his fingers around both of Damien's waistbands and pulled, dropping to his knees as he did so. Before Damien could process what was about to happen, Michael's hot, wet mouth was around his cock.

 

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Damien swore, his head bouncing back hard against the tree, eyes squeezing shut.

 

His hands automatically went to the sides of his partner's head, holding on loosely as Michael began bobbing his head, sucking hard, his hands holding onto the back of Damien's thighs. Damien opened his eyes and looked down, trying to comprehend through his haze this next, sudden change in their relationship.

 

He groaned deep, his cock swelling in Michael's mouth, his pulse spiking as he watched in erotic fascination. Michael's tongue pushed hard on the bundle of nerves just below the swollen head and Damien felt himself release a burst of precome at the stimulation. Michael hummed as he swallowed, the vibrations around his cock making Damien shiver. Then Michael shifted, releasing his grip on one of Damien's thighs and wrapping his hand around his cock instead, stroking as he sucked.

 

Damien pulled in hard breath. " _Fuck_ …" he groaned, his fingers flexing in Michael's short hair.

 

Michael's assault on his cock was relentless, sucking harder, stroking faster, taking Damien deep into his throat, driving Damien's arousal to a fever pitch.

 

"Don't stop, Mike…don't stop…" he pleaded, panting, wanting it to last forever.

 

But all too soon he felt his orgasm rising within him, his body craving release. He held on for as long as he could before he was helpless to stop the rush surging through him.

 

"Oh, God… _fuck_ …Mike, I'm—" he ground out in warning, giving his partner time to pull off.

 

But Michael just took him deeper, stilling his movement as Damien let go, his cock pulsing long and hard, emptying himself down Michael's throat. He gave a shout as he came, his head falling back against the tree again as Michael swallowed around his cock, his tongue pushing against the slit, trying to draw out more of the thick fluid.

 

Damien was breathing hard, his heart pounding when his spent cock finally slipped from Michael's mouth a long minute later. He reached for his partner but Michael was already there, surging up Damien's body, pushing Damien's shirt up his chest roughly as he went. Michael's hands then tore at his own jeans, Damien getting a glimpse of Michael's rock hard cock, the head red and wet before Michael slammed his mouth against Damien's.

 

Damien tasted himself on Michael's tongue as they kissed hard and fast. Damien cupped Michael's ass and pulled him closer, feeling Michael stroking his own cock furiously between their bodies. Seconds later Damien swallowed down Michael's shout of completion as his partner bucked against him, the long streams of his release painting Damien's chest and stomach in sticky warmth.

 

They eased back from the kiss, resting their foreheads together, breathing deep for several moments before slowly straightening up. There was a smile playing at the corners of Michael's mouth.

 

Damien grinned in return, taking in their rumpled, half-naked state, still feeling the pleasant warmth in his body from his orgasm. He nodded matter-of-factly.

 

"We need to start fights more often."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Rays of early morning sunlight against the backs of his eyelids pulled Damien slowly awake. He sighed, sluggishly blinking his eyes open. The first thing he saw was Michael. His partner was lying on his side, facing him, still deeply asleep. Damien let a tiny, lazy grin play over his face as he recalled last night's events.

 

They had finally made it back to the giant beagle, Damien now bare-chested, having used his shirt to clean up the evidence of Michael's release on his skin. As they jogged quietly past the office, Damien hoped that word would not get back to Dennis and Francis that their guests had torn up the local bar.

 

They stumbled up the steps and into their room, their mouths fused together once again. They shed their clothes like snakes shedding their skins on the way to the bathroom for a shared shower to wash off the liquor that had been spilled on them and clean their scraped up knuckles. Not to mention other parts of their bodies that had been put to good use that night.

 

Their quick shower quickly turned heated and they tumbled down onto the bed, their skin still damp, bodies moving against one another. Michael had rolled on top of Damien, surrounding him with heat and strength, their erections pressed tightly together. As Michael thrust his hips, grinding down against Damien, rubbing their cocks together, Damien wished desperately that Michael was pushing inside him instead. Wanted that connection more than with any other man he'd ever been with. And part of that was due to this slow, step-by-step progression of their relationship. Damien knew without a doubt that this would never have worked with anyone else, man or woman. Only with Michael. Because it was more than just a physical attraction between them—they had a bond that ran deep, forged by blood and war—something Damien had never had with anyone before.

 

Feeling the tug of that bond, Damien brought his thoughts back to the present and leaned toward Michael, kissing him gently on his mouth, then the side of his neck and top of his shoulder, lingering there until he felt his partner stir.

 

"Hmm…" Michael murmured, reaching out for Damien, curling a hand around his waist, drawing him closer, eyes still closed.

 

Damien kissed him again and Michael began to respond, still half-asleep, opening his mouth under Damien's. They kissed long and slow until Damien felt Michael's cock start to harden where it rested against his stomach. He eased back then, moving to kiss down the long column of Michael's neck to the top of his chest. Michael sighed, rolling onto his back, his hand now cupping the top of Damien's head as Damien went lower still. He paused at one of Michael's flat nipples, lapping over it with his tongue, back and forth, up and down until it hardened into a pebble and then he grazed it with his teeth. Michael gave a strangled moan, his fingers flexing in Damien's short hair. Realizing he'd found an erogenous zone on his partner, he continued with his ministrations, pulling on the small nub with his lips, sucking on it, nuzzling into Michael's chest until his partner was shifting beneath him, his hand pressing harder against Damien's head, trying to hold him in place. But Damien had other ideas. He lifted his head slightly, ignoring Michael's sound of protest which turned into a soft groan when Damien turned his attention to Michael's other nipple. He gave it a similar treatment, licking, sucking and nipping while his hand drifted back to the first, slick with his saliva, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling gently.

 

"Fuck…" Michael panted, shifting restlessly again, body arching, pressing his chest up against Damien's mouth.

 

Damien captured the nub between his teeth and tugged, making Michael gasp, his hard cock now pushing against Damien's chest.

 

Releasing Michael's sensitive nipples, Damien continued his exploration, sliding the sheet down past Michael's waist, his long, muscular body now on display in the morning sunlight. Damien looked his fill, then dipped his head again, kissing wetly down and across Michael's well-defined abs, to his naval, to the thin trail of blond hair until his chin bumped the head of his partner's growing erection.

 

"Yeah…" Michael breathed, one of his hands lightly squeezing the top of Damien's shoulder.

 

Damien needed no further encouragement, as eager to taste Michael for the first time as his partner had been to taste him last night. He shifted quickly, spreading Michael's legs wide then bending them at the knees, settling himself between them.

 

He opened his mouth and slowly took Michael's cock inside, his partner's most intimate taste exploding across his tongue. Damien groaned, echoed by Michael as Damien ran his tongue around the rim of the foreskin and across the head, dipping into the slit. He sucked and was rewarded with a burst of precome across his tongue. Michael pulled in a quick breath as Damien swallowed eagerly, enjoying the slightly salty taste, wanting more.

 

Damien slid his mouth up Michael's cock, leaving enough room to curl his hand around the base. He squeezed gently and felt Michael's cock jump in his grip, the head pushing further out of the foreskin. He bobbed his head, setting up a rhythm, slow at first, then a bit faster, sucking and stroking at the same time.

 

Damien reveled in the feel of Michael's cock against his tongue—steel wrapped in satin, thick and long, hot and heavy. Damien's own erection hung full and heavy between his own legs, his arousal growing steadily at Michael's taste and the sounds he was drawing out of his partner as he propelled him toward completion.

 

Michael's hips jerked, trying to get his cock further down Damien's throat. Damien obliged, going lower, taking in as much of Michael as he could. Michael arched his head back, his mouth falling open with a gasp as Damien hummed around the thick length and swallowed down another stream of precome.

 

One of Michael's hands fell heavily on his shoulder, squeezing again.

 

"Damien…" Michael breathed, now shifting restlessly beneath him, his other hand fisted in the sheets. "So close…"

 

Damien felt his own cock leak precome at Michael's words, as close to release as his partner, wanting nothing more than to feel Michael come down his throat. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, once, twice more and was rewarded with a sharp cry from his partner a spilt second before Michael's cock surged against his tongue, flooding Damien's mouth with his release in long, thick streams.

 

Damien swallowed again and again as Michael climaxed, holding on tight to Damien's shoulder, his eyes squeezed closed, his hips trying to thrust until he was spent. Damien let Michael's cock slip from his mouth then, leaving behind pearls of white on the wet, swollen head, unable to hold back his own orgasm any longer at the sight, sound and feel of Michael's.

 

He sat back on his knees then bent forward over Michael, one hand braced on the bed next to his partner, the other stroking his cock furiously. But Michael pushed his hand away, wrapping his own around Damien's straining length. Michael's touch was all it took. Two long, firm strokes and Damien fell over the edge.

 

"Oh, fuck… _Mike_ …" he ground out as his cock jerked in Michael's grasp, his release painting white stripes on his partner's bare chest and stomach.

 

Damien sagged, breathing hard, as Michael teased the last drops from the swollen head of his cock, rubbing his thumb through the sticky fluid before licking it off. He tugged Damien down flush against him then, and Damien claimed his mouth for a long kiss, letting Michael taste himself on Damien's tongue. They kissed until their breathing slowed and Damien's limbs grew heavy, sleep creeping up on him again, his body warm and sated.

 

Michael rolled them to their sides, arms and legs still entwined, a small smile at the corners of his mouth as his hazel eyes drifted closed once again as well. Damien's last thought as he followed his partner into slumber was that he hoped Francis knocked first before bringing in their breakfast.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

As luck would have it, somehow Michael's internal alarm clock went off just fifteen minutes before Francis was due. Having forgotten to clean themselves up before dropping back off to sleep, Damien unglued himself from his partner's chest and the two of them hurried into the shower. For _just_ a shower this time.

 

Freshly washed and smelling of soap ten minutes later, Damien stood naked next to the bed, rummaging through his duffel, pulling out his Hawaiian shirt and a pair of black jeans along with underwear and socks. On the other side of the bed, Michael was doing the same, only he stopped as he withdrew one of his t-shirts and made a face.

 

"What?" Damien said, sliding his boxer briefs up his legs, followed by his jeans.

 

"Mate, we _really_ need to do some laundry," Michael replied.

 

Damien picked up his Hawaiian shirt from the bed and gave it a cautious sniff. "We are a little ripe, aren't we?" he agreed.

 

Michael stood and pulled on his own underwear and dark blue cargo pants. He pointed at Damien's shirt. "On second thought, just burn that."

 

Damien gave him the finger in reply and slipped into the shirt as Michael chuckled.

 

There was a knock at the door just as Michael pulled his green t-shirt over his head. He turned, took the few steps to the door and slid it open with a smile, stepping to the side.

 

"Good morning, good morning!" Francis said cheerfully as she walked inside, holding a large, round silver tray with two plates covered in red and white checkered cloths, a pot of coffee and two glasses of orange juice.

 

Even without seeing the food, Damien could smell it—either pancakes or waffles, eggs, bacon and sausage. His stomach grumbled at the same time as Michael's. His partner quickly stepped forward and relieved Francis of her burden.

 

"Cheers, Francis. This is lovely," Michael smiled.

 

"Oh, my pleasure," Francis smiled in return. "I hope your stay here was everything you hoped it would be."

 

Damien and Michael locked gazes and Damien knew his partner was also thinking of the new change in their relationship that had happened during their stay.

 

The corners of Damien's mouth twitched and he winked at Michael. "Even more, Francis," he said.

 

Francis beamed and turned to take her leave. "Well, we've loved having you here. Please come back if you're ever in town."

 

"Absolutely, ma'am," Damien replied. "Oh, one last thing. Is there a laundromat in town?"

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien took a small sip of his hot coffee and set the cup back down on the table, careful not to spill anything on his bare chest or legs, seeing as he was only wearing his black boxer briefs. He sat back in his chair, getting comfortable, turning the page of the newspaper he was reading. He glanced over the top of the paper to the other side of the table where Michael was sitting, a mirror image of himself. Damien couldn't help but think how domestic it seemed—sitting in their underwear, reading the morning paper, drinking coffee. As if they were in their own flat in London instead of in the middle of a laundromat in Idaho. But still, Damien was surprised at how much he liked that thought—living with Michael. Something that he'd never even considered with anyone else he'd ever had any kind of relationship with. Michael was changing him day-by-day. For the better.

 

The vibration of his cell phone on the table pulled Damien from his thoughts. He looked down at the display. It was a text from Julia.

 

"Richmond," he told Michael.

 

Michael set down his newspaper and leaned forward. "Everything all right?"

 

Damien quickly scanned the text and released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He nodded. "All good, buddy. She says Baxter and Dalton have gone undercover successfully as the journalists. Everything going as planned."

 

Michael sat back in his chair. "Told you Baxter could take care of himself."

 

Damien nodded as he composed a reply to Julia, his mind put a little at ease, but he knew the knot of worry that had settled in his gut wouldn't be completely gone until he saw his teammates face-to-face.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The further south they drove in Idaho the warmer the summer temperatures became, and Damien was glad they'd hit up the local grocery store in Cottonwood before leaving to top up their supplies, including bottles of water. He took a long drink then placed the plastic bottle back in the cup holder attached to the side of his bike.

 

Damien glanced sideways over at Michael, riding beside him. It had been a gorgeous trip through Idaho and his partner was looking relaxed, taking in the scenery as their bikes ate up the miles to their next destination. Which was just about upon them, as Damien spied the exit up ahead. He led them off the highway and down a few miles until the sign came into view – The Idaho Potato Museum.

 

They pulled into the parking lot right near the front entrance and hopped off their bikes. Michael took one look at the massive ten foot tall, twenty foot wide baked potato sitting on the lawn and shook his head in amusement as they approached.

 

"What is with you Yanks building these monstrosities all over your country?"

 

"Bigger _is_ better, Michael," Damien said simply, grinning.

 

Michael looked pointedly down at Damien's crotch, then back up with a smug expression. "I'll be the judge of that, mate."

 

Heat raced down to Damien's groin at the thought of proving his words to Michael soon, and he subtlety adjusted himself as he reached into his pants pocket for his phone. He cleared his throat and pointed to the giant cement potato, complete with sour cream and a pad of bright yellow butter on top.

 

"You know the drill. Get up there!" he told his partner as he turned on the camera feature on his phone.

 

But Michael stood his ground and pointed himself, to the side of the potato. "Oi. The sign clearly says NO CLIMBING, Scott," he smiled, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly thinking he had avoided yet another embarrassment. But Damien wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.

 

"When have we _ever_ followed the rules, Michael?" he demanded with a smirk.

 

Michael was defeated and he knew it. He let his arms fall to his side with a resigned expression and turned to the potato.

 

Damien laughed and slugged Michael on his upper arm as his partner started to walk across the lawn. "That's the spirit, buddy! Now get your ass on that spud!"

 

It wasn't going to be an easy ascent. The surface was smooth and round and the potato was nearly twice as tall as Michael. But as Damien watched, his partner tackled it like an expert free-climber. He stood on top of the low Idaho Potato Museum sign and launched himself up and off with a powerful jump. His arms stretched out and his fingers just curled around the edge of the sour cream. But it was enough of a hold and Michael planted his feet firmly against the side of the potato and walked himself up until he was able to push himself up on top of the pad of butter, where he sat like a victorious mountain goat.

 

Damien laughed and raised up his phone. "Say 'French fries', Mikey!"

 

This time he received a double middle finger salute in reply.

 

"Ha! Fuckin' perfect!" Damien hooted as he snapped the picture, then texted it to Julia as Michael slid down off the potato.

 

Damien slapped Michael on his back as he came to a stop next to him. "Another one for the scrapbook, dude!"

 

"I will get even with you for those photos. You know that, right?"

 

Damien winked. "Oh, I'm counting on it, partner."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

For the next hour Damien forced Michael to play the role of tourist once again, making him take the tour of the museum. His partner was clearly bored out of his mind, learning about the history of the marvelous spud in America, so he finally took pity on him and dragged him into the gift shop instead. While Michael browsed, Damien grabbed t-shirts for the both of them with a potato riding a motorcycle and then couldn't resist snagging potato guns for both Baxter and Julia.

 

No stop at the potato museum would be complete without _eating_ them, so their final stop was the Potato Station Café, where Damien ordered up a pile of French fries for them both, and several dipping sauces. Damien savored every bite, already missing the greasy taste once this road trip was over and they headed back to London. The British chips just didn't compare, in his opinion. Michael's expression, however, was saying just the opposite.

 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he quickly wiped off his hands and fished it out, fully expecting it to be a reply from Julia. But his eyes widened in surprise when he saw the text was instead from Baxter.

 

_Hope you're enjoying your holiday, you lucky bastards. Bring me back something from the States and I'll get you a souvenir from beautiful Lebanon._

 

Damien grinned. _Deal_ , he typed, then sobered. _Watch your ass, Liam. Because Dalton sure as hell won't._

 

_I know, I'm good. Take care of Michael. Me and Julia, we're glad you're doing this for him. See you both soon. We'll swap stories. Gotta run. Some of us are actually working._

 

Damien let a small smile cross his face as he put his phone away, the knot in his stomach loosening again.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Damien set the full canteens and his flashlight down next to the tent then stretched his arms over his head, bending backwards slightly at the waist, working out the kinks of a long day's ride. He straightened up and pulled in a deep breath of the warm summer night air as he looked around the campsite, listening to the cheerful sound of crickets around him in the secluded piece of forest they had chosen. It was their last night in Idaho and he and Michael had decided to sleep out under the stars. Literally, this time. It was too warm in the enclosed tent, so they had spread their sleeping bags out next to the fire. The fire which Michael was currently standing in front of, staring at the dwindling flames as if they held all the answers in the universe. Damien's brow furrowed and he walked up behind his partner, placing his hands on Michael's waist.

 

"Hey," he said quietly.

 

"Hey," Michael echoed, then turned around.

 

Damien caught a flash of the troubled expression on Michael's face, but before he could ask what was wrong, his partner curled a hand around the nape of his neck and drew him in for a kiss.

 

He opened his mouth under Michael's, their tongues doing slow, sensuous battle as he entwined his arms around his partner and pulled their bodies flush together. Their mouths came together again and again as the languid kiss continued, pleasant warmth spreading through Damien's body. He would never be able to get enough of kissing his partner.

 

One of Damien's hands drifted downward, to cup the swell of Michael's ass, squeezing slightly. Michael made a soft sound into the kiss and pressed his groin against Damien's. Damien groaned quietly and slipped his hands up under the hem of Michael's shirt, pushing the fabric up his chest. Michael eased back from the kiss and let Damien slide the shirt up and off his body before reaching for Damien's own.

 

They undressed each other slowly, pausing to kiss over newly exposed skin until they stood naked before the glow of the fire, their bodies bathed in shades of red and orange. They sank down onto their sleeping bags, tangled together, kissing once more. Michael rolled them so that Damien was on his back, Michael on top of him. Damien sighed into the kiss, reveling in the feel of Michael's strength and warmth blanketing him, his hands skimming up and down Michael's bare back, fingers pressing just slightly into the smooth skin.

 

Michael eased back from the kiss, his hazel eyes shimmering in the firelight, capturing Damien's gaze with that same, searching look for a heartbeat. Then he dipped his head, his mouth on the sensitive spot behind Damien's ear as he slid partway off of Damien's body, one of his hands questing downward over Damien's chest. Michael's thumb rubbed over a flat nipple, teasing it to pebble hardness, making Damien hum low in his throat, eyes sliding closed, his body responding to his partner's ministrations.

 

Michael kissed down his neck, over the top of his left shoulder to the tattoo on his upper arm where he paused, his tongue tracing the outline while his hand wandered lower, ghosting over Damien's abs, then drifted to the large tattoo on Damien's side, his fingers gliding over the intricate pattern, making Damien shiver.

 

His hand moved again, lower still, to cup Damien's cock and heavy balls. Michael tugged gently and Damien shifted his hips, pushing into Michael's touch, his cock stirring, filling.

 

Michael curled his hand fully around Damien's cock, giving short, slow pulls, encouraging it to hardness a little at a time. His thumb rubbed against the head and Damien let his eyes drift open, watching as Michael stroked him, as his cock lengthened in Michael's palm. He tipped his head back, his mouth falling open as his cock released droplets of precome.

 

"Michael…" he whispered.

 

Michael bent over and kissed Damien slowly, his tongue slipping inside to rub sensuously against Damien's. Damien felt Michael's erection against his leg and he eased back from the kiss, rolling them both on their sides. They came back to the slow kiss, tangled their legs together. Damien's hand drifted down between their bodies, to the heat centered at their groins and took Michael's heavy erection in his palm, his fingers curling around its length, as Michael's hand wrapped around his own.

 

Michael moaned quietly into the kiss as they stroked each other unhurriedly, drawing out the pleasure as long as they could, wrapped in the darkness of the summer night, the moon shining down on them.

 

So caught up in the sensations of the gentle lovemaking, Damien's orgasm took him by surprise, rolling over and through him in one long wave. He gasped as he came, breaking the kiss to lay his forehead against Michael's, as his partner stiffened against him with a deep groan. Damien felt the warm splash of Michael's release against his stomach as his own cock pulsed again and again.

 

They drifted down slowly from their climax, Damien's body heavy, warm and sated. He smiled lazily at Michael, leaning in for a kiss before snagging his shirt to clean off their chests and stomachs. Michael rolled onto his back as Damien tossed the shirt to the ground, his head lying in the crook of Damien's arm.

 

Damien sighed as he gazed up at the thousands of stars glittering like diamonds above them, bright against the night sky, the crickets still singing out. Damien was fast becoming addicted to the peace and quiet of this road trip, so far removed from the violence that normally surrounded him.

 

Michael was so still beside him Damien thought his partner had fallen asleep, but when he turned his head to check, Michael was staring up into the sky with the same lost, uncertain look that he'd had at Lake Winchester and earlier tonight. A feeling of unease settled over Damien, abruptly erasing his relaxed mood. Was Michael closer to making a decision on whether to leave Twenty?

 

Damien swallowed against a dry throat. "Hey…you with me?" he whispered.

 

He watched Michael blink, seeming to come back to himself and looked over to Damien. "Yeah, I'm with you," he said without hesitation.

 

But his words and half smile didn't quite reach his eyes and Damien once again felt Michael slipping away from him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

In Nevada, they did more than taste

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Nevada was hot, dry and desolate.

 

Not a cloud in the blue sky, the sun beat down mercilessly on Damien as he and Michael rode further south. The heat rose up in shimmering waves from the pavement, flanked on either side by endless miles of sand, interspersed with rocks and tumbleweeds. The barren landscape reminded Damien of his years in Delta, and his deployments to Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq—and the friends and teammates he had lost there. When he planned this road trip he hadn't considered the memories this particular route might conjure up, and his good mood vanished, replaced by a desire to get the hell out of the desert, and his past, as soon as possible.

 

He glanced to his right, at Michael, and saw his partner looked as hot and uncomfortable as he did, face shiny with sweat, drinking from a bottle of water. Damien raised up his own bottle and finished it off, noticing when he put it back down in the holder he was getting low on gas.

 

He scanned ahead for the next few miles, looking for a gas station sign at an exit. When he spied one he called out to Michael and pointed. His partner gave him a thumbs-up and they pulled off toward a small town Damien had never heard of before. The gas station was more than five miles from the highway, past a few wide-spread homes, situated between a row of small businesses on one side and a church and cemetery on the other.

 

Damien dismounted, glad to be in the shade of the awning over the pumps. He blew out a breath and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his olive green t-shirt. He was hot, tired, and still feeling out of sorts, visions of lost friends still in his mind. He unscrewed his gas cap, inserted his credit card, grabbed the pump handle and started filling his tank. Behind him, Michael first pulled up the bottom of his white tank top and scrubbed it over his sweaty face, then began pumping his gas as well.

 

Damien glanced to the small convenience store attached to the station, deciding to head in and grab a couple of cold bottles of water for himself and Michael. He turned to tell his partner what he was doing but stopped before he spoke. Michael was staring off at the graveyard, his jaw tight, his expression one of anger mixed with profound sadness and loss.

 

Damien looked to the row of headstones as well, knowing without a doubt Michael was remembering the last time he was in a cemetery—Kerry's funeral. Damien had been right there beside his friend, his partner, as his wife was lowered into the ground. Michael had stood ramrod straight, his face devoid of any emotion as the others around him had wept. Afraid of the ticking time bomb Michael was becoming, wanting to be there for him when the explosion finally came, he hadn't let Michael out of his sight. Stood with him until all of the mourners had filed past then put them both in a car, made one stop to pick up a bottle of whiskey, and got them to Michael's flat. He sat in the back garden with his partner and let Michael drink himself into oblivion, his heart breaking at Michael's silent grief. The explosion, when it came, used up what little energy Michael had left. His face contorted with rage, he rose up with a hoarse, pain-filled scream that tore at Damien, hurling the empty whiskey bottle at the garden wall before collapsing back down. He sagged against Damien, who held him for long minutes, silent tears falling from Damien's eyes. He eventually got Michael back inside and upstairs into bed before his partner passed out into unconsciousness. Damien then sat in the chair beside the bed and kept watch over him throughout the long night.

 

Damien blinked, pulling himself out of the painful memory and took a step toward Michael, laying a hand on his shoulder, pulling his partner back as well. Michael started slightly at the touch then turned and caught Damien's gaze, a haunted look in his hazel eyes. Michael gave a terse nod, cleared his throat then looked pointedly at his gas pump while Damien cursed himself for ever thinking cutting across Nevada was a good idea.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Michael was withdrawn for the rest of the day, Damien not much better off himself, having unintentionally conjured up ghosts for them both. And the temperature just kept climbing. All Damien wanted to do was get them both to their motel for a cold shower followed by polishing off the rest of the bottle of whiskey he still had. And they would have nearly been there already if not for the vehicles in front of them—a semi-truck and a huge RV camper, both of them barely doing the speed limit on this two-lane road.

 

Damien grit his teeth in frustration. The road was just winding enough with small hills that prevented a clear line of sight for passing, with sporadic traffic coming in the opposite direction. So Damien and Michael had no choice but to follow behind. But after another ten minutes in the heat behind the rolling roadblock, Damien reached the limit of his patience.

 

"Fuck this," he muttered. "Mike!" he called out, then jerked his head to the left, letting his partner know he was going to attempt to pass both vehicles.

 

Michael shot him an irritated look at his reckless idea, but then nodded his head. Apparently reckless was better than endless more miles following in an exhaust wake. Damien gave him a thumbs-up then edged his bike as far to the left as he could without going into the oncoming traffic lane to see as far in front of the truck as he was able. Which wasn't very far. He was just going to have to go for it. He waited until Michael was positioned directly behind him, gave him another thumbs-up and hit the gas. The bike surged forward, crossing the double yellow lines into the opposite lane just as they were beginning to crest a hill. The driver of the RV honked angrily at them as they sped past and Damien would've loved to have spared a moment to give them the finger, but he still had one more vehicle to get past.

 

Michael was right on his rear tire as they started to overtake the semi, hitting just over 65 mph as they began to crest the hill. All Damien saw was a flash of a vehicle approaching in the opposite direction, coming over the hill and he cursed, jerking his bike to the right, nearly touching the cab of the semi. The driver blew his horn as Damien and Michael threaded the needle between the truck…and a Nevada State Trooper.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Damien shouted as the trooper's lights came on and he did an abrupt U-turn. "Son-of-a-bitch," Damien cursed again, pulling ahead of the semi before slowing down and stopping on the side of the road, Michael right behind him. Could this day possibly get any worse?

 

Damien threw himself off his bike and started to stalk back toward the trooper, who was pulling up behind them. Already in a bad enough mood as it was, the last thing he needed was some smart ass cop—Damien cut off his internal rant as he drew up beside Michael. His partner was having as rough a day as he was, more so since Damien had accidentally forced memories of Kerry to resurface. He felt guilty enough about that. The last thing he needed to do was piss him off on top of it by causing a scene with the trooper over a ticket he damn well knew he deserved.

 

So Damien bit his tongue and took their tickets along with a beratement from the trooper on their reckless actions without so much as a protest, wanting nothing more than to put this state in his rearview mirror.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Damien originally chose this motel as he was planning their trip he did so because he found the name to be funny, and thought Michael would as well—The Prancing Prairie Dog Motel. But when they finally pulled into the parking lot, neither of them were laughing and Damien scowled at the happy little animals on the sign as they passed by.

 

Michael got them checked in and they brought their duffel bags down to their room just a few minutes later. As soon as Damien opened the door a blast of much welcomed ice cold air hit his over-heated skin and he sighed gratefully. He sank down onto the bed with a groan, dropping his bag beside it, scrubbing his hands over his face, feeling the grit and grime on his skin.

 

His partner walked past him and let his own bag drop to the floor on the other side of the bed. Michael stripped off his dusty, sweat-stained tank top, tossed it on top of his bag then walked straight to the bathroom without a word. Damien heard the shower turn on a minute later. He debated whether or not to join him, wanting to give Michael space if that's what he needed. Damien gave it another minute, but when the door remained open he undressed and walked into the bathroom.

 

He could see Michael's silhouette through the frosted glass, unmoving. He hesitated again, but then reached out and slowly pulled the door open. Michael was standing under the spray, one hand braced on the wall in front of him, eyes closed, head hanging, water flowing over his naked body. He opened his eyes and straightened up at the sound of the door opening, turning to look at Damien.

 

"Hey," Damien said softly, making no move to step into the shower, giving his partner another opportunity to his privacy.

 

But Michael moved back, making room for Damien and Damien brushed his fingers down Michael's chest in thanks as he stepped in and closed the door behind him. Michael reached for the bar of soap as Damien ducked under the shower spray. The water was barely lukewarm, cool against his still warm skin, and he let it cascade over his tired body for a long minute, rinsing off the dust and dirt of the road.

 

He stepped back out of the spray and Michael snapped the thin bar of soap in half, handing a piece to Damien. Michael was distant as they washed, his mind clearly elsewhere. And by the by the cloud across his normally bright eyes, Damien knew Michael was still trapped in the past, Kerry's loss still too fresh, an open wound that hadn't yet healed.

 

Michael moved back under the water, the soap suds sluicing down and off his wet, clean body. He ran his hands back and over his short hair one last time then reached for the shower door handle. But Damien curled a hand around his wrist before he could open the door.

 

"I'm sorry," Damien whispered, apologizing for…everything. For Kerry's death, for reminding Michael of his loss, for his grief, for this entire fucking day.

 

Michael slid his wrist out of Damien's loose grip and cupped his hand on the side of Damien's face. He gave a small shake of his head, kissed Damien softly and stepped out of the shower, leaving Damien to watch him go, concern in his eyes.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It wasn't particularly late, but it had been a long day, so when Damien finished his shower and stepped out of the bathroom to find Michael already in bed, he didn't hesitate to join him. He turned off the bedside light then slipped under the sheet, curling his naked body around Michael, who lay on his side. He draped an arm across Michael's waist and was relieved to feel his partner lean back into him, welcoming Damien's touch.

 

They lay quietly for several minutes, Michael's silence weighing on Damien, fearing his partner was once again retreating into his own head, suppressing emotions that needed to be released, undoing all of the progress he'd been making on this trip. He bent his head forward and placed a gentle kiss on the nape of Michael's neck.

 

"Talk to me," he murmured.

 

Michael's body stiffened and Damien tried not to sigh in disappointment. But then, surprisingly, he heard Michael release a long breath, then his partner rolled to face him, eyes downcast. When he did lift his gaze, Damien's chest tightened at the overwhelming guilt radiating from Michael's eyes.

 

"I should have let her go," Michael whispered roughly. "After we lost the baby and everything fell apart between us." He swallowed hard. "I would have gone back to Twenty, there would have been no Hanson…" Moisture gathered in his eyes. "She'd still be alive," he choked out. "It's my fault… It's my fault she's dead, Damien…"

 

Damien's heart clenched at Michael's broken words. He shook his head firmly and grasped Michael's arm. "Don't do that to yourself, Mike," he told him. "The only person to blame is Hanson. And you sent that fucking bastard straight to Hell, where he belongs." Damien's tone softened and he relaxed his hand. He flicked his gaze away from Michael. "After everything that happened…losing the baby, all that crap that started with Jake, then Kerry dying…" Damien trailed off, guilt settling on his shoulders now. He looked back at Michael. "I'm not good with shit like that. I didn't know what to say. I felt like I didn't do enough for you…"

 

Now it was Michael who shook his head. "No. You did." He rested a hand on Damien's chest. "It was all me. You kept reaching out and all I did was shut down and bury everything, push you away." He slid his hand up, his thumb brushing against Damien's jaw. "Thank you for not giving up on me," he whispered, voice low and deep. "For being here now, when I need you the most…"

 

As Michael's eyes locked with his, Damien felt a jolt, the atmosphere suddenly charged with invisible electricity sparking between them that stole Damien's breath with its intensity.

 

And when Michael's lips touched his, he knew without a doubt they were about to take that final step, that it was time.

 

Damien's heart raced as he pulled Michael flush against him, tangling their legs together as their mouths opened to each other. He knew Michael felt it, too, could sense it in his kiss—a little more urgent, a little more sensual, a little more…everything. Their mouths parted only to come back together again and again, until Damien felt Michael's heart pounding against his chest as fast as his own.

 

Damien rolled them then, so that Michael's long, broad body was blanketing him. Damien moaned into the kiss, surrounded by Michael's strength and heat, his muscular body a welcome weight. Damien liked being with women, but given a choice he'd chose a man every time. Women were soft and delicate and you needed to check yourself, hold back a bit. But there was something intoxicating about making love with another man—being able to just let go, fingers gripping strong, hard muscles, moving together powerfully, hard and fast and deep.

 

So Damien spread his legs wide and bent them at the knees, fitting Michael between them, telegraphing his need, his desire, his want—to have Michael buried inside him. Michael took the cue, canting his hips down, pressing their rapidly growing erections together. A wave of anticipation rolled through Damien and he moaned again, kissing Michael harder, arms wrapped tightly around him.

 

Damien was light-headed when Michael broke the kiss, both of them breathing fast. Michael's hazel eyes were wide and dark with desire, pinning Damien with their heat before Michael dipped his head again. His mouth was warm and wet against the side of Damien's neck, kissing the sensitive spot behind his ear before moving lower. Damien hummed in the back of his throat as Michael's lips closed over one of his nipples. He sucked on the small nub, his tongue laving across it, drawing it to a hard peak before gently biting down. Damien sucked in a quick breath at the pleasant jolt of pain, his hand coming to rest on the back of Michael's head, encouraging him.

 

But his partner had other ideas. Michael moved further down his body, over to his right side, where his tongue traced over the delicate lines of his large tattoo while his fingers swept over the tattoo on his arm. Damien had never considered his tattoos to be erogenous zones, but Michael was rapidly changing his mind, his cock hardening even further as Michael's mouth moved over his ink, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

 

When Michael finished mapping Damien's tattoo his mouth quested lower, to the head of Damien's now full erection. He engulfed Damien's cock in his warm, wet mouth and Damien pushed his head back into the pillow, mouth falling open, his hands now on either side of Michael's head. Michael sucked hard and Damien groaned as his cock released a burst of precome. Michael swallowed and bobbed his head, continuing to suck and a moment later Damien felt one of Michael's fingers rub against his entrance. Damien jerked at the stimulation, his cock swelling in Michael's mouth, arousal flooding through him.

 

He tugged at Michael's shoulders as he felt his orgasm building already. "Not yet…not yet…" he panted.

 

Michael gave him a sly grin as he let Damien's cock slip wetly from his mouth, his finger still rubbing against Damien's entrance. But then he frowned and stilled his movements.

 

"We don't have…" he began.

 

Damien tipped his head to the right. "My bag. Side pocket."

 

Michael arched an eyebrow at him and Damien laughed.

 

"It wasn't me, I swear. It was Digger."

 

"Remind me to send him a thank you note," Michael said as he quickly retrieved the tube of lube and small box of condoms.

 

Damien put his hand on the condoms. "Mike…I know you know I fuck around a lot. But I get tested and I'm good." He lifted his hand. "But it's whatever _you_ want."

 

Michael paused for barely the blink of an eye before knocking the box to the floor, flicking open the tube and coating the fingers of his right hand.

 

Then he bent over to kiss Damien long and hard as he settled himself between Damien's legs again, rubbing their erections together, quickly getting them both back to where they were as if the brief interruption never happened. Damien opened his mouth eagerly under Michael's and fell into the kiss, his arousal climbing once more.

 

Michael shifted slightly and a moment later his hand was brushing past Damien's full, heavy balls, his finger once again rubbing against the small, puckered muscle. Damien shivered at the sensation and pressed down just as Michael pressed forward, his slick finger slipping inside.

 

Damien broke the kiss with a sharp groan, his neck arching, eyes squeezing shut as Michael's finger pushed further inside him.

 

" _Fuck_ …" he breathed, light-headed again with the thought that this was finally happening.

 

Then Damien couldn't think at all as Michael locked gazes with him as he stretched him, first with one finger, then two, until Damien was shifting restlessly beneath him, the sheet clenched between his fists. Damien pressed down again, trying to get Michael's fingers further inside, then cried out sharply as they found the spot deep inside him. Michael crooked his fingers and Damien shook, his cock jerking, the head now wet and sticky with precome.

 

"God, Mike…now…" he pleaded, desperate to feel Michael inside him.

 

He could see the overwhelming desire in Michael's eyes as well as he withdrew his fingers, leaving Damien feeling empty. He reached for the tube of lube before Michael could and flipped open the top. He sat up, squirting some of the clear fluid on his palm, then captured his partner's mouth for a deep kiss as he slowly coated Michael's rock hard cock from tip to base. Michael moaned as Damien gave his erection a firm squeeze before releasing him and laying back down, leaving Michael's cock jutting out proudly.

 

Michael took himself in hand as Damien spread his legs wider and tipped his hips up. Michael looked down, guiding his erection to Damien's entrance, pressing it against the small muscle before shifting his gaze back up. The arousal in his eyes was blinding in its intensity and Damien couldn't look away as Michael pressed his hips forward, the tip of his cock finally, slowly, slipping inside of him.

 

Twin, sharp groans filled the room at this first, intimate joining. Damien's back arched at the incredible feeling of fullness as Michael's cock pushed deeper inside him, inch by inch, his body stretching around its thick length.

 

How many times had he fantasized about making love with Michael? Of feeling Michael inside him? He knew now all those fantasies paled in comparison to the reality.

 

"Damien…" Michael breathed, voice low and deep.

 

Damien shivered at the sound of his name falling from Michael's lips as his partner filled him completely. His heart pounded as they both paused, letting this first time sink in, because there would never be another.

 

Michael leaned over, bracing one arm on the bed next to Damien's shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on the side of Damien's face, his thumb brushing against Damien's cheek.

 

"Damien…" he whispered again, dipping his head down and closing the distance between them.

 

The kiss was achingly slow as Michael began to move, shifting his hips back and sliding his cock nearly all the way out of Damien's body until just the swollen head remained. Damien couldn’t help the moan that escaped him as Michael pushed forward in one smooth motion, filling him again.

 

They fell into an ages-old rhythm, their bodies moving together over and over, parting from the kiss only to come back to it again and again. Damien clutched at Michael's back, fingers pressing into firm muscle and smooth skin that rippled under his touch, submitting willingly to Michael's strength, letting it carry him away as his partner took him higher and higher.

 

"Harder, Mike…" he panted harshly, wrapping his legs around his partner's lower back, changing the angle of penetration, his body on the razor's edge. "God…go deeper…" he pleaded.

 

And Michael did, snapping his hips, pushing his cock in further. "Oh, Christ, Damien…" he ground out, just as he hit the spot deep inside Damien that made him shake and cry out.

 

"Don't stop…don't stop, Mike," he gasped, his back arching up off the bed.

 

This first time was never going to last, Damien's orgasm already curling at the base of his spine, and he didn't fight it, his arousal at a fever pitch, desperate for the release only Michael could give him.

 

His need must have been written on his face for Michael bent his head, eyes full of heat, his voice a growl against Damien's ear.

 

"Want to watch you come…"

 

Michael's words were the match that lit the spark inside him and Damien let go, shouting out Michael's name as his climax swept through him like a tidal wave, nearly whiting out his vision. His cock surged, spattering his chest with long, thick streams of his release as his body contracted around Michael's own cock, buried so deep inside him.

 

"Oh, fuck… _Damien_ …" Michael ground out, pushing in hard.

 

A split second later Damien gasped sharply as he felt Michael's cock swell, pulsing long and hard again and again, filling Damien with slick, wet heat.

 

Michael sagged down against Damien and they held each other as they shook through their climax, Damien's face buried in Michael's shoulder, feeling the tremors racing through his partner's body.

 

It was long minutes later before they settled, their breathing and pounding hearts slowing. Damien kissed the side of Michael's neck and his partner raised his head, his features relaxed, content, his eyes bright and clear.

 

Damien felt his heart skip a beat. "Mike, I…" he trailed off, his throat closing up, unable to put into words what he was feeling, what this meant to him, how much closer he felt to Michael now. Partners in every sense. Their bond even deeper than before.

 

But Michael seemed to understand, a slow smile crossing his face and he answered Damien without words, his kiss full of the same emotions.

 

Michael eventually eased back and slowly slid his softening cock out of Damien's body. Damien groaned softly at the loss of their connection as Michael sat back between his bent legs, placing a kiss on the top of Damien's right knee. He paused, still looking down at Damien's leg, reaching out to brush his fingers across a small scar on the inside of his thigh—evidence of Michael digging a bullet out of him in India, just a few days after they had met.

 

"You saved my life," Damien murmured as Michael looked up at him.

 

Michael shook his head slowly. "We saved each other's."

 

Damien heard the deeper meaning in his partner's voice, and as he pulled him close once again, it was his turn to answer without words.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

In California, they made a decision

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next morning they put Nevada in their rearview mirrors and crossed over into California.

 

Damien couldn't keep the smile from his face as their bikes ate up the miles, thinking about the previous night. It had been the right decision, to take it slow. Waiting to sleep with Michael had heightened every aspect of their lovemaking. Made Damien feel things that he never had with anyone else—man or woman—that he'd taken to bed.

 

And from the look on his partner's face, Michael felt the same. With a grin to match Damien's own, he was the most relaxed and happy Damien had seen him since the plane landed in Alaska. With this new aspect of their relationship Damien hoped it meant that Michael would be staying with Twenty. And with him.

 

Michael looked over at him and laughed, zig-zagging his bike a bit on the open road then gunned it, pulling ahead of Damien only to slow and let Damien catch up. He did it a second time and now Damien laughed, realizing Michael wanted a repeat of their aborted race in Alaska.

 

"Really?" he called out with a grin. "You really think you can take me?"

 

"Yeah, I really think I can take you, mate!"

 

Damien laughed again. "You're on, buddy! To the next exit sign!"

 

Michael once again held up three fingers and Damien chuckled to himself. Would his partner ever learn?

 

For the second time, as soon as Michael started to bend his third finger, Damien hit the gas, roaring down the highway, throwing his head back with a laugh as his partner yelled out, "On ZERO, you tosser!"

 

He wasn't laughing for long, however, as Michael quickly gained on him, then began to pull ahead at just over 80 mph, gleefully giving Damien the finger as he passed him.

 

"Asshole!" Damien humorously snarked back at him as he spied the next exit sign just up ahead.

 

Along with the only other vehicle on the road, sitting in the median. Appropriately enough, it was another motorcycle. Only this one had the California Highway Patrol insignia emblazoned on the gas tank.

 

"Oh, fuck me," Damien muttered, then couldn't help but roll his eyes and shake his head as the CHP officer immediately turned on his lights and siren.

 

Damien followed Michael off to the side of the highway then laughed uproariously at his partner's scowl as they dismounted their bikes.

 

"Don't even give me that look, Michael," he pointed at him. "This is all on you, dude!" Damien crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk. "Besides, you said you wanted to meet law enforcement in every state we visited." He nodded in the direction of the overweight officer approaching and winked at his partner. "Want your picture with him?"

 

Michael tried to hold onto his irritation but gave in and shook his head, laughing.

 

"Something funny, son?" the CHP officer frowned, unbuckling his helmet chin strap and removing his sunglasses to frown at both Michael and Damien. When he tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket the sun glinted of his name badge which read _Evans_.

 

Michael forcibly wiped the smile from his face as Damien hid his behind his hand.

 

Michael cleared his throat. "No, sir," he said seriously but Damien could hear the laughter in his voice.

 

"Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" Evans demanded.

 

"I'm sorry, officer," Michael began. "It was my fault. I've only been in the States for a short time and I'm still used to kilometers per hour. I didn't realize I was speeding."

 

Damien blinked at the feeling of déjà vu at Michael's answer, the same as he'd given to the Alaska state trooper. Amused, Damien watched for the second time as his partner tried to play the role of confused, innocent tourist. But in the end the result was the same and they both stood with speeding tickets in their hands as Officer Evans rode away.

 

Michael tucked his in his wallet and Damien once again wondered what the hell he was doing with them as he held up his own piece of pink paper. He crumpled it his hand and tossed it over his shoulder. "Well, that makes it six for six, Mikey! Think we can go for lucky number seven in Mexico?" he grinned.

 

Michael stepped up close and pressed his groin against Damien's, his voice a low rumble in his ear.

 

"That's not the kind of lucky I'm hoping to get…"

 

Damien felt all his blood rush south and his brain struggled to calculate how far it was to the border.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They arrived at their destination early that evening, driving under a large, curved metal sign that spanned the width of the roadway, welcoming travelers to the town of Weed. Damien knew that recreational marijuana was legal here in California and when he planned this trip the purpose was to get Michael out of his head, clear his mind. Exactly what smoking a little pot could accomplish. And where better to stop and indulge than a town named after the drug?

 

Back in the day, Weed was a thriving lumber town, and many buildings in the downtown area still held onto their charm from years gone by. But now they housed dentist offices, insurance brokers, a tattoo parlor, a coffee shop, a clothing boutique and of course, a weed store. Damien gave the tattoo shop a second glance as they drove past and parked in front of the marijuana shop, an idea taking shape in his mind.

 

Michael tipped his head toward the shop, called Grass Roots. "Seriously, mate? Am I about to see the world's largest joint?"

 

"Ha! No, but we can always try and make one ourselves," Damien winked, starting to walk to the front door.

 

But Michael remained where he was. "Drugs, Scott? Really?"

 

And there was the uptight Brit he knew and loved. Damien walked back over to his partner and clapped him on the arm. "Loosen up, Mikey! Live a little!" Then he shrugged. "Well, unless you're too chicken-shit…" he trailed off tauntingly.

 

Michael knocked Damien's hand off his arm as he walked past him to the door. "Fuck you," he shot back with a grin.

 

"At least wait until we're at the campsite," Damien smirked as Michael rolled his eyes in exasperation.

 

Damien followed his partner inside the store, immediately overwhelmed by the scent of marijuana mixed with burning incense. There were three customers in the store, browsing the selections in large glass jars with names such as Apple Jaxx, Boss Frost, Golden Summit, Euphoria, Blue Dream and Sour Diesel.

 

Despite his rebellious past, drugs were never a big part of Damien's life. The last time he'd lit up was his first year in Delta. And whatever was in the joints he smoked he certainly had no idea what the stuff was called. Pot had apparently come a long way in the last ten years!

 

"Help you gentlemen?"

 

Damien turned to the voice, belonging to a young, clean cut African American man in a dress shirt, vest and slacks, wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Damien blinked. This kid looked liked he belonged in Harvard Business School, not dispensing weed.

 

"Umm…yeah," Damien stalled, not willing to let on to his partner that he was out of his depth. "I'll take an ounce of Euphoria," he said confidently, even though he was anything but. "What about you, Mikey?"

 

Michael looked like a confused kid examining a row of jars of strange candy he'd never seen before and Damien grinned.

 

Michael straightened up. "Blue Dream?" he shrugged.

 

"Good choices," the young man smiled. "Give me just a minute and I'll have everything ready for you."

 

True to his word, Damien and Michael walked out of Grass Roots ten minutes later with two small baggies of pot and rolling papers.

 

Michael shook his head as they walked over to their bikes. "I can't believe you talked me into doing this."

 

"Speaking of doing things…" Damien trailed off, still thinking about the tattoo shop. "I need to make another stop before we go."

 

He tucked the marijuana in one of the side boxes on his bike, then started off down the sidewalk, Michael following along next to him, peering at him curiously. A block later he pushed open the door to Inktown Tattoos and stepped inside, Michael right behind him.

 

He paused just inside the doorway as a bell chimed overhead, glancing around. Rock music was playing, the walls at the front of the shop covered in pages of framed designs for customers to choose from, the rest of the walls painted in bright colors, on one Inktown Tattoos was spray-painted in tasteful graffiti style. Damien could hear the buzz of tattoo needles in action in several of the six cubicles to his right.

 

Michael stepped up close to him, looking him up and down. His voice was pitched low. "Are you getting another one?"

 

Damien's pulse jumped at the heat in Michael's gaze and words. Christ. He really was turned on by Damien's ink. "Like that idea, do you?" he smiled slyly.

 

"Hmm…" Michael murmured, the corners of his mouth quirking.

 

"Evening! What can I do for you?"

 

Damien and Michael took a step back from each other and turned toward the pleasant female voice. A woman in her early thirties was now standing behind the front counter, apparently having stepped out of the doorway to Damien's left. She had long, jet black hair, teased out to a mane around her head, a contrast to her pale skin and the bright red lipstick she was sporting. She wore a skin tight black tank top that hugged her well-shaped breasts and showed off both of her full-sleeve tattoos. She was smiling at them, her lip ring glinting in the overhead lights.

 

"Looking to get some ink?" she asked.

 

Damien stepped forward. "Umm, yeah, I am. Something custom."

 

"Sure thing," she said, and slid a pad of paper and a pencil across the counter to him. "Can you give me a rough idea?"

 

Damien nodded and picked up the pencil as Michael moved closer to look over his shoulder. Damien carefully drew out the intricate Thai characters then slid the paper back over to her.

 

Michael cocked his head. "What does it mean?"

 

But Damien just winked at him in reply as the woman nodded her head. "No problem." She extended her hand. "I'm Sylvie."

 

"Damien," he replied. "Nice to meet you, Sylvie."

 

She nodded her head to the right. "C'mon back. I'll take good care of you." She paused and glanced to Michael. "Your friend can watch, if you want," she told him with a wink.

 

Michael took a step forward and Damien chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes," he said and they both followed Sylvie to an empty cubicle.

 

"So where would you like the design?" she asked as Damien and Michael sat down.

 

Damien extended his right arm, drew his fingers down the inside from elbow to wrist. "Here." Unlike his other tattoos that he couldn't see unless he was undressed, he'd decided that this one he wanted to be able to look at everyday.

 

Sylvie nodded. "Sounds good. Let's get you set up."

 

A short time later Damien was reclining back in the chair, his arm out to the side, the sharp tattoo needle piercing his skin over and over, tiny pinpricks of pain racing under his skin.

 

As Michael watched the process intently, sparing a heated glance at Damien every so often, Damien watched Michael. He wondered what his partner would look like with ink of his own. His mind immediately conjured up an image of Michael lying naked on the table, a tattoo taking shape in the sensitive area right below his hip, near his groin, the dark ink standing out in stark relief against his light skin. Damien had to bite his lip from groaning at the erotic image as his cock began to fill, his sudden hard-on not going unnoticed by his partner. Damien felt his face heat up as Michael cocked an eyebrow in amusement and he looked away as his partner chuckled under his breath.

 

An hour later Damien stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of Inktown, his new tattoo covered by a large bandage. As Michael joined him on the sidewalk, he tucked the small travel packet of ointment in his pants pocket that he would use later after he uncovered his ink.

 

His partner looked pointedly down at Damien's crotch. "Someone was enjoying himself in there," he teased.

 

Damien moved in close, undressing Michael with his eyes. "Oh, I wasn't getting off thinking about _me_ getting inked…" he trailed off suggestively, reaching out to rub his thumb over that spot between Michael's hip and groin.

 

Michael's eyes went big and round and Damien winked as he stepped back. "C'mon, Mikey, I'm hungry!" he called out over his shoulder as he walked away, laughing at the wide-eyed expression frozen on Michael's face.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

With a relaxed sigh Damien reclined back in his chair and pushed his empty plate away from him, stomach pleasantly full from his hearty meatloaf and mashed potato dinner here in Weed's local diner. Across from him, Michael had also made quick work of his fried chicken and corn on the cob, taking a last drink of his ice tea.

 

Setting his glass down, Michael reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, flipping it open to pull out a few bills. As he did so, Damien noticed a familiar pink piece of paper sticking out. Lightning quick, he leaned across the table and plucked the traffic violation ticket out of the wallet.

 

"Oi!" Michael said, lunging for it, but Damien snatched it out of his reach.

 

"Why the hell are you keeping these?" Damien laughed. "You're really not thinking of paying them, are you?"

 

Michael shrugged. "You're the one who said I needed souvenirs. They're going in my scrapbook. Evidence of the law-breaking citizen you turned me into on this trip," he grinned.

 

Damien laughed, honestly not sure if Michael was telling the truth or if he really was secretly going to pay them all. Either way, he handed the ticket back over and Michael tucked it back in his wallet.

 

The waitress wandered over then and looked down at their empty plates. "Get you fellas anything else?"

 

"Actually, a recommendation for a campsite near here would be lovely," Michael answered.

 

Damien leaned toward her. "Someplace private," he winked.

 

She smiled knowingly and pulled out her pen and order pad and started to write.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The sun was setting by the time Damien sat down and leaned back against the large rock, setting his supplies next to him on the ground as he looked around. The waitress hadn't done them wrong, giving them directions to the spot she and her boyfriend frequently used—a small, secluded clearing up in the woods, near a stream.

 

He and Michael had set up their tent, then Michael went off to gather kindling while Damien constructed the fire pit and spread out their sleeping bags in front of it. Now Michael was just tossing the last of the branches on the small fire as Damien put the two small bags of pot, the rolling papers and his lighter on one side of him and a bottle of water, his stolen hotel towel and the packet of ointment on the other side. He needed to remove the bandage from his new tattoo and gently clean it before turning in for the night.

 

Michael joined him shortly, relaxing back against a wide tree stump beside him as Damien rolled their joints. He handed one to Michael and put the other between his lips. With a flick of his thumb a flame sprung up from his lighter and ignited the end of his joint.

 

Damien inhaled slowly, the taste much sweeter on his tongue than his normal nicotine. He held in the smoke before releasing it in a steady stream.

 

"Hmm…" he nodded in approval. "Nice." He ignited the lighter once again and held it out to his partner. "Your turn, Mikey."

 

Michael hesitated before leaning over and lighting up. He took a small puff and instantly started coughing.

 

Damien threw his head back with a laugh. "Oh my God, dude, you've never smoked before, have you?"

 

Michael shook his head. "I told you I'm not a boy scout," he said indignantly, obviously trying to save face, but failing as he coughed again.

 

"Oh really?" Damien chuckled, taking a slow pull on the joint and settling back against the rock, waiting for the effects to start shortly. "Do tell."

 

Michael shrugged a shoulder, trying to keep from smiling himself. "I smoked in school. Once. Just a cigarette. And it was bloody awful!" he laughed. "Forced myself to finish it because I was with my mates. Then got properly sick all over myself," he smiled. "That was enough to put me off for good." He held up the joint. "Until you came along and corrupted me."

 

"Ha! That's what friends are for, buddy!" Damien grinned and took another drag, tipping his head back and slowly blowing out the smoke, the air now sweet with the scent.

 

Michael took another careful inhale, managing not to cough this time, holding in the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling. "What about you? When did you start?"

 

"With cigarettes?" Damien began. "When I was thirteen," he answered and Michael raised an eyebrow. "My parents both smoked, so it was just a normal thing for me," he explained. "Easy to sneak a few from their packs. And it's not like either of them cared at that point." He paused and sucked on the joint, feeling the first stirrings of the drug begin to flow through him. "Started experimenting with pot, drinking, when I was seventeen." He looked up at the sky, at the shades of reds and pinks. "My parents had split up, I thought I was never getting out of Detroit…I was an angry kid." He looked back over at Michael as his partner took another puff. "Then I joined the Army and didn't have another joint until I got into Delta. Lot of guys lit up. But I got out of that habit pretty quick. Walking around stoned is a surefire way to get yourself killed, you know?" He took another inhale, feeling his body relaxing. "Haven't had one since."

 

"Why now?" Michael asked and Damien could see the drug was starting to take affect on his partner by the slight slur of his words and the slow blink of his eyes. "You planned on stopping here and doing this."

 

"For you," Damien answered. "I wanted to get you out of your head for awhile. Wanted you to relax…just let go." He leaned toward Michael, his voice pitched low. "Is it working?"

 

"Hmm…" Michael murmured, giving him a slow, sexy smile, his gaze roaming over Damien's body.

 

"I'll take that as a yes," Damien breathed, starting to feel a bit light-headed himself, warmth spreading throughout his body along with the first stirrings of arousal.

 

He took one last, long drag on the joint, holding in the smoke for several seconds before flicking the tiny butt into the fire. He held up his right arm as he exhaled and slowly removed the long bandage, exposing his new tattoo. The skin was raised and tinged with red on the outer edges of the design, but with only a few tiny flecks of blood. Damien set the bandage to the side and unscrewed the cap on the bottle. He poured a small stream of water over the tattoo, set the bottle down, picked up the towel and carefully patted his skin dry, removing the dried blood.

 

Beside him, Michael finished off the rest of his joint and moved closer as Damien picked up the packet of ointment. Michael reached his hand out, indicating the packet. "Can I?" he asked, voice dropping.

 

Damien nodded, placing the packet in Michael's hand, sensing his partner's desire to touch the new tattoo, realizing he wanted to feel Michael's touch just as much.

 

Michael tore the corner off the packet and squeezed the clear, semi-thick fluid onto his fingers. He dropped the packet to the ground then gently laid his fingers just above the tattoo.

 

Damien couldn’t help the shiver that raced through him at Michael's touch, as he slowly slid his slick fingers across the tattoo and back, the drug heightening his sensitivity, his cock stirring.

 

"It's beautiful," Michael whispered.

 

"It's us," Damien replied just as quietly and Michael tipped his head. Damien looked down at the letters. " _Partners_ ," he read, his eyes lingering on the two entwined S's at the end—Scott and Stonebridge. He raised his eyes to Michael's, cupping the side of his face, leaning in.

 

Michael's gaze went soft. "Partners," he echoed and closed the small distance between them.

 

Damien moaned into the kiss as their mouths opened to each other's. He could taste the unique flavor of Michael's marijuana on his tongue, richer than his own had been. He slanted his mouth across Michael's, wanting more, feeling his cock throb as it filled. He tugged on Michael, needing him closer, pulling until his partner straddled his hips, sitting in his lap, his hands braced on the rock behind Damien.

 

It was Michael's turn to moan into the kiss as he settled on top of Damien, his full erection pressing against Damien's own. Damien's hands cupped Michael's ass and Michael bucked his hips, grinding down against Damien, their mouths still sealed together. Michael continued to rut against Damien, hips jerking, the friction sending sharp jolts of arousal spiking through Damien, the effects of the weed heightening their lovemaking.

 

Damien kissed Michael harder, his head spinning, his entire body tingling, on fire as the drug worked it's magic. He needed his clothes off. He needed Michael's clothes off. He needed to feel the heat of Michael's bare skin against his own.

 

Damien broke the kiss with a gasp, looking up at his partner. Michael's eyes were blown wide, his face flushed, under the full influence now of the pot himself, both of them breathing hard. They reached for each other's clothes at the same time, almost frantic in their movements, pulling at shirts and pants until they were finally naked under the night sky, a sleeping bag pushed hastily underneath them.

 

Michael straddled Damien once again, pressing him back, the rock rough but warm against Damien's bare back as Michael claimed his mouth for another aggressive kiss. Damien gripped Michael's firm ass as his partner humped against him, twin groans escaping their kiss as their erections finally pressed tightly together, both swollen heads sticky and wet, leaking precome.

 

Damien shifted his grip as Michael's hips rolled, his finger searching, drifting down the crease until it rubbed hard against the small, puckered muscle hidden there. The reaction was immediate, Michael's whole body jerking as he pulled back from the kiss with a shuddering breath.

 

"Damien…" Michael ground out, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Damien rubbed again, his cock throbbing with the need to be buried deep inside Michael.

 

"Damien, wait…" Michael gasped and Damien went still.

 

"Mike, I'm sorry," Damien said quickly. "I didn’t mean to push you. We don’t have to—"

 

"No!" Michael cut him off. "I want it. _God_ , I want it," he smiled in reassurance. "It just that…it's been a long time. Since before Kerry…"

 

Damien released a breath, skimmed his hands up Michael's back. "We'll go as slow as you want, Mike. Slow as you want," he promised.

 

He felt Michael relax under his touch right before he dipped his head and claimed Damien's mouth for a deep kiss, the catalyst that quickly had Michael moving restlessly against Damien once again. Damien reached between their bodies as his partner rocked his hips, taking both their straining erections in hand, stroking in counterpoint to Michael's thrusts. Michael groaned low in his throat at the stimulation and pulled back from the kiss, his eyes gone dark again.

 

"Now…" he panted, pushing harder into Damien's grip.

 

Damien kissed Michael swiftly, squeezing their cocks one last time before releasing them both. "On your knees," he ground out.

 

"Fuck…" Michael breathed.

 

He rose up and off of Damien as Damien moved to the side, grabbing for his discarded pants. He snatched the tube of lube out of the pocket he'd stashed it in earlier as Michael went to his knees, holding onto the large rock, his chest nearly touching the stone.

 

Damien had to squeeze the base of his cock hard to prevent himself from coming right then and there at the picture Michael presented—on his knees, legs spread wide, exposing himself, his cock jutting out from his body, his balls hanging full and heavy between his muscular legs, looking over his shoulder at Damien with unbridled desire.

 

Damien released his cock and quickly coated the fingers of his right hand with the lube. Tossing the tube back down on the sleeping bag, he moved in close to Michael. He ran his left hand up Michael's broad back and Michael arched under his touch, pressing his hips back, lifting his ass. Damien leaned forward to kiss Michael swiftly as his slick finger found Michael's entrance and slowly slid inside.

 

Michael grunted at the intrusion, looking down, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as Damien continued to slide his finger deeper.

 

"Christ, Mike, you're so tight…" Damien murmured as he began to gently stretch his partner.

 

He heard Michael release a breath and felt his body relax as he continued to slide his finger in and out. Soon Michael pressed back with his hips.

 

"More…"

 

A second finger joined the first and again Michael stiffened briefly before relaxing as Damien continued to take his time and work him open, becoming more aroused by the minute, wanting nothing more than for his cock to take the place of his fingers.

 

Michael was breathing harder now, pushing back firmly onto Damien's fingers, trying to get them deeper. Determined not to hurt his partner when he finally did slide his cock inside, wanting him stretched as much as possible, he added a third finger.

 

"One more, Mike…" he breathed.

 

Michael groaned, his fingers flexing against the rock, gripping hard. "Oh, fuck…" he panted, dropping his head, spreading his legs wider, canting his ass up further.

 

Michael pushed forward and back with his hips, fucking himself on Damien's fingers, Damien's cock throbbing, releasing another stream of precome at the erotic sight. Just when he had nearly reached his limit, needing to bury himself inside of his partner, Michael looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide and dark.

 

"Need you in me… _now_ …" he pleaded.

 

Damien needed no further encouragement. But even though he wanted nothing more than to take Michael just like this, he wanted his partner to be in charge, to set the pace for this first time in years for him. So he withdrew his fingers and leaned over Michael's back, his cock just pressing against his ass. His voice was a low growl next to Michael's ear.

 

"Ride me."

 

Michael's eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck," he swore, swallowing hard before turning his head and kissing Damien swiftly.

They moved apart, Michael turning to face Damien, tipping Damien onto his back and straddling his thighs, his erection jutting out proudly from his body. Damien groped for the tube and Michael took it from him, flicking the cap open and coating the palm of his right hand. Damien bit his lip as Michael stroked him, slicking his rock hard cock with the clear fluid, willing himself not to come. Finally Michael released him and repositioned himself over Damien's waist, bringing Damien's erection flush against his entrance, rubbing it against the muscle, teasing them both. Then he lowered himself down until the swollen head of Damien's cock breached him for the first time.

 

Michael threw his head back, his mouth falling open as Damien's whole body shuddered. His hands went to Michael's waist, holding on tight as Michael sank down further, drawing Damien's cock inside him with short movements, pulling Damien in deeper and deeper until he had taken in all of Damien's erection.

 

Damien couldn't help the strangled moan that escaped him at the sensation of being buried inside Michael for the first time, surrounded by his tight heat. They both paused, Damien watching as a flood of emotions crossed Michael's face before his partner bent forward to kiss him for a long moment, Damien feeling Michael's body stretching around his thick length.

 

Damien trailed his hands lightly up and down Michael's back, raising goosebumps as they kissed, until Michael eased back and sat up again. He laid his palms flat against Damien's chest, his thigh muscles flexing and tightening. A moment later he rose up, letting Damien's cock slide out of his body until the swollen head caught on the tight muscle, then sank back down in one fluid motion.

 

"Damien…" Michael gasped, his fingers curling against Damien's chest. "Fuck…feels so good…"

 

Damien reached up and grasped Michael's upper arms as his partner set up a fast, smooth, up and down rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of his body.

 

"More…harder…faster… _Mike_ …" Damien rambled, his heart pounding, his arousal nearly blinding in its intensity as Michael rode him, the drug heightening the experience, his entire body hyper-sensitized.

 

Damien lost track of time, losing himself in Michael as his partner drove them higher and higher, their skin now slick with sweat, their breathing harsh in the quiet hours of the summer night.

 

Just as Damien felt the first, sharp stirring of his orgasm low in his belly, Michael's rhythm faltered, his partner on the edge as well. Michael shifted to take himself in hand, but Damien pushed his hand away and wrapped his palm around Michael's straining erection instead. His length was hot and heavy, the swollen, red head peaking out from the foreskin, leaking precome.

 

Michael groaned as Damien gripped him tightly, riding Damien harder, taking his cock in as deep as he could as Damien pushed his own orgasm aside, desperate to watch Michael shatter above him first. He stroked Michael sharply, pressing on the sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside of the head. Michael jerked at the stimulation and Damien stroked him again, once, twice…

 

He felt Michael's erection swell in his grip an instant before his partner stiffened above him. Michael threw his head back, his shout of completion loud and sharp as he came, his cock pulsing, painting Damien's chest with thick streams of his release.

 

Damien tugged Michael's head down, capturing his mouth for a deep, hard kiss as Michael's body contracted around his cock. Michael was still shaking as Damien rolled them over, his legs wrapping around Damien's waist as they pulled back from the kiss.

It was Damien's turn to set up a quick, sharp rhythm, his hips snapping, feeling the tidal wave of his orgasm begin to crest inside him.

 

Michael bucked up underneath him, his heels pressing into Damien's lower back. "Deeper…" he moaned, still caught in the throws of his climax.

 

Damien locked eyes with Michael, his partner's expression one of not only desire and arousal, but also of complete openness and trust and it took his breath away, his heart clenching in his chest.

 

Damien's hips stuttered and Michael arched his head back, his mouth falling open with a moan. "Damien…"

 

And once again, the fucked-out, breathless sound of his name falling from Michael's lips was his undoing.

 

Damien let go, let the wave sweep him away. He heard himself cry out Michael's name, felt his cock pulse long and hard deep inside Michael, filling him with wet heat, light-headed with the rush of his release.

 

Then Michael was there, holding him close through the tremors until he sagged in his partner's embrace, utterly spent.

 

They lay quietly for long minutes as their breathing slowed, still connected, kissing languidly until Damien slipped gently from Michael's body, his partner making a soft sound of protest at the loss. They settled on their sides, legs tangled together, Michael's arm draped across Damien's waist. Utterly relaxed from the combination of mind-blowing sex and the weed, Damien felt his eyelids growing heavy, on the verge of sleep. He raised his right arm, intending to reach out and tug Michael closer when his partner turned his head and caught Damien's elbow. Damien blinked slowly, watching as Michael gazed steadily at his new tattoo for a long moment, his expression deeply thoughtful before raising his head and placing a soft kiss next to the ink. _Partners_. Damien shivered at the tenderness as Michael turned to look at him, studying Damien's face as if it held the answer to a question only he knew.

 

As Damien's eyes finally closed, drifting off to sleep, he hoped Michael found what he was looking for.

 

Because he had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The sounds of birds chirping happily pulled Damien slowly awake. He blinked open his eyes, the early morning light diffused by the tent, where he and Michael had eventually retreated to escape the rampant California mosquito population.

 

He blew out a breath as he watched Michael sleeping soundly next to him. California. Their road trip would be ending soon. And then what? Damien looked up, the corners of his mouth turning down. Like the inside of the tent, they'd been living in a bubble these last few weeks—just the two of them, removed from their normal lives. How would it be when they went back to Twenty? When reality set in? That is, if Michael was even coming back…

 

Damien startled slightly when he felt Michael's warm hand on his chest. He tilted his head back down to see Michael looking over at him, concern in his hazel eyes.

 

"What's wrong?" Michael asked softly.

 

Damien rolled to his side, facing his partner. His voice was quiet. "Wondering where this road we're on is gonna take us, Mike."

 

Michael smiled warmly at him with no hesitation, his expression now content and confident, all trace of uncertainty gone. He reached over and linked his fingers with Damien's. "That's all part of taking a journey together, isn't it?"

 

Damien didn't miss Michael's use of the word "together" and his heart somersaulted in his chest with the knowledge that Michael had made his decision. He'd found what he was looking for. A reason to stay. And it was Damien. It was the two of them. Partners.

 

Damien swallowed past the emotion rising up inside him, his smile just as bright as he leaned in close, his lips just touching Michael's.

 

"Well then, the highway's calling."

 

**THE END**


End file.
